


Crossfire

by Pazlet



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Depression, Dogmeat is a GOOD BOY, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Gunners, I heavily dislike Marcy Long but she deserves closure too, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Minutemen, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sad Parents Everywhere, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Survivor Guilt, Time to die inside, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, sad dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pazlet/pseuds/Pazlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long road ahead of them, but for MacCready it has been long enough. He has to betray his partner to the Gunners, but he has to do it soon. Winlock and Barnes are beginning to grow impatient.</p><p>---</p><p>A different version of the "Long Road Ahead" storyline which focuses on our favourite mercenary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The liquor was watered down – a taste that MacCready has already long grown accustomed to in the Third Rail. He swilled a large mouthful of whiskey before swallowing, watching the remainder amber liquid swirl in his glass as he lazily rotated his wrist. The VIP lounge was empty this time, and the young gun for hire was alone in a room tinged in red light. When he first came here, the Goodneighbor ladies of the night used to always saunter towards him, languidly offering their services on cold nights. After discovering that MacCready was – for lack of a better word – flat broke, they ignored him.

Not like he wanted their company anyway.

Magnolia's sultry voice echoed from the main bar, her velvet tones reflecting another one of her sad stories of heartbreak. Sometimes he would hum along to a few songs, but tonight he was too inebriated to register what song is actually playing. Also, tonight he just doesn't care.

Another mouthful of whiskey later, and it burned away the ache in his chest. When the clock hits midnight it's Duncan's fourth birthday. Usually it's an occasion to celebrate, but tonight is no night for MacCready to do such a thing. He should be with his son, teaching him how to throw a ball and telling him ridiculous stories as he tucks him away in bed.

"No..." He breathed as he quickly downed the rest of his whiskey. He's here to forget, not to remember.

Some footsteps echoed down the corridor before entering the VIP room. He looked up, seeing someone in an oversized hazmat suit sit haphazardly on the couch opposite him. An assault mask obscured the head, hiding the newcomer's visage underneath. An exasperated sigh rattled through the breathing vents of the mask as the helmeted head reclined to the wall behind it with an audible bump, and an uncomfortable series of fidgets later the stranger eventually settled.

MacCready eyed the 10mm pistol holstered on the stranger's thigh, noting that the safety catch was off. Based on past experiences within the Third Rail, the last thing you want is a firearm going off in a notorious bar, whether or not the shot was accidental. Deciding to prevent the situation rather than diffuse it, MacCready sat up straight and clicked his fingers a few times to draw attention.

"Hey," he slurred as he pointed at the pistol. "Your safety is off."

The head cocked in response, the mask giving nothing away in regards to whether or not the person paid attention. They just sat there, much to MacCready's ire, with their chest rising and falling the only indication that the person wasn't just a dead body slumped on the couch.

"I love these one-sided conversations..." He drawled, sitting back in his chair. It's not his problem anyway. _Let the idiot be an idiot._

Eventually a lazy hand crept down to their pistol, the gloved hand clicking the safety catch into place, before flopping their arm loosely across their lap. Another sigh rattled through the mask's rebreather.

MacCready smirked at the lethargic compliance, feeling a tiny victory at such a stupidly mundane action. He raised his glass to his lips before remembering that his glass was empty. He huffed in annoyance at his predicament, and reached into his pocket for some caps. The mercenary made a move to stand up, but was stopped when he saw the person opposite him raise their hand, palms facing him in a stop motion. It was then that MacCready noticed a bottle of whiskey beside the stranger, who promptly unscrewed the cap before hobbling over to him and refilling his glass.

"Uh, thanks." He took a tentative sip after raising his glass slightly, pocketing his caps back into the recesses of his duster. The stranger said nothing but raised a lazy thumbs up at him before huffing again.

There was an awkward silence between the two; the stranger huffing away while MacCready gulped his problems away, but neither of them decided to fill that silence between the two.

"Fuck!"

The stranger's outburst startled MacCready, causing him to spill a small trail of liquor down his front. He looked at the stranger in irritation. "Jeez, the hell is your problem?"

The stranger sat bolt upright, with gloved hands scrabbling over the mask and yanking it off before throwing it away with force. MacCready stared into the brown eyes of a woman, chestnut hair plastered on her forehead and grime smudged across high cheekbones. She was breathing heavily through her nose in an effort to keep herself calm, but he could still see her anger simmering beneath her sharp features.

She huffed as she reached for the whiskey bottle, unscrewing the cap and took a gulp straight from the bottle. A small droplet hung from her bottom lip, which she wiped away with the back of her hand, her brown eyes now staring intensely at MacCready.

"You," she breathed, recognition dawning on her face. "You stole my kill."

"The hell are you talking about, lady!?" He spat back, the whiskey she poured him suddenly tasting bitter at the back of his throat. "I've never seen you before in my entire life!"

She jabbed an accusing finger at his direction, a threatening gesture now made ridiculous due to her gloves being two sizes too big for her hand. "Libertalia," she began, "Raiders were giving trouble to a nearby settlement, and you killed the leader and took payment from my contract!"

Something at the back of his mind clicked, the memory now clear. He sat back in his seat and grinned. "Ah, so you're the lady that bailed on my client."

She visibly balked at his words, but chose to drink from her whiskey bottle again instead of shouting profanities. She swallowed her mouthful, took in a breath, and wheezed from the whiskey burn. She recovered quickly. "'Bail?'" She repeated, clearly offended by the notion, "I didn't bail, I was scouting the area. Then you came along and fucked up my plans."

"Well, you obviously took too long on recon because your employer grew so impatient, he hired me instead." He sipped from his glass leisurely, satisfied that this woman in front of him obviously couldn't handle her own liquor. "I would also like to add that I was paid double of what you were offered."

Her brows furrowed at this revelation, visibly upset that she was swindled out of her own job and obviously stood to be grossly underpaid if she had succeeded. She shook her head and crossed her legs, silencing her muttered curses with another drink. The pained gulp was loud enough for MacCready to hear, but he took her defeat as sign of victory and lit up a cigarette. He offered her the open box, but only in pity.

Her gaze flicked to the box, but she eventually gave in and took one in truce. She had her own lighter, which was brown with rust, and she struggled with getting the flint to spark. She managed, after a few flicks, to get it lit. She inhaled and relished it on her slow exhale. MacCready watched as her lidded eyes glazed over, the whiskey tingeing her tanned skin a darker shade of pink. She sighed once more and then tilted her head in his direction.

"Charlie said you're a gun for hire," she told him, the true purpose of her visit to the Third Rail now clear. "MacCready, isn't it?"

He nodded, watching her closely. She made a small hum before she took another drag from the cigarette and flicked the ash to the ashtray on the table next to her. "How much?" She asked.

"Two-fifty," he confirmed on the exhale of his own cigarette, "Up front, non-negotiable."

Her brow cocked in speculation, obviously not happy with his offer. "Everything is negotiable," she said coolly, "Call it two hundred."

_No_ , he thought, irked at her gall. "Listen, lady," he sat up, "I said that it's non-negotiable. Two-fifty is my flat rate. Any lower, then you can forget it."

She shook her head, but she smirked knowingly at him. "I'm not paying you for one contract, I'm offering two hundred per week." She stubbed out her cigarette, "Salary. Plus a share in loot." The scowl on his face disappeared, which only caused her smirk to grow. "I've also paid off your bar tab with Whitechapel."

There was a brief pause between them, the stranger relishing in MacCready's lack for words. Eventually he recovered and composed himself once more. "That's a hell of a gamble you're taking there," he said, "What if I still said no?"

She wiggled her eyebrows, raising the whiskey bottle and sloshing the contents inside. "This here is a bottle of Johnnie Walker, platinum label." She took a sip and smacked her lips, ignoring the disgusting aftertaste. "It's worth double of your outstanding tab. I would have just told Charlie that you're starting a new tab with it. Call it a good riddance gift for taking my previous contract in the first place."

She watched his reaction, satisfied that the conversation has taken a turn into her favor. She stood up unsteadily, walked over to his end of the room and held out a shaky hand to him. His blue eyes flicked from her hand to her face, then made a frustrated sigh as he took her hand and shook it. "Okay," he said in defeat. "It's a deal."

"Meet me at the Rexford tomorrow afternoon," she said, leaving the bottle of whiskey with him, "I'll pick you up at the lobby."

MacCready took the bottle and set it aside, his gaze following her as she stumbled over to the other side of the room to pick up her mask.

"Sure thing, boss."

She made an indignant scoff at the word _"boss,"_ and proceeded to place her mask on to hide her scowl. "Don't call me boss," she muttered, her voice now muffled from the mask. "Just call me Dawn."

 

X

 

The wasteland was as unforgiving as ever.

MacCready and Dawn had found shelter in an abandoned bus, the metal roof resonating loudly from the downpour of rain falling from above. It was nightfall, and the both of them were tired from a day's worth of walking; a feat made harder due to the both of them being hungover from their whiskey binge the night before. MacCready looked over at Dawn, who sat at the far opposite end of the bus. She was busy rummaging through her pack of supplies. Eventually she came across what she was looking for and pulled out a flask of water.

"Here," she threw the flask to MacCready, who caught it flawlessly with one hand. He nodded in thanks before taking a gulp and throwing it back to her. Dawn didn't catch it with the same grace as him, and it clattered noisily on the metal floor. "Shit, sorry," she cursed apologetically before holding it out of the window, the rain refilling the rest of the flask.

Once full, she capped the flask and placed it back in her pack. Dawn sighed in some sort of internal defeat and removed her mask. MacCready busied himself by counting out the rest of his ammo, but the occasional glance upwards gave him the opportunity to also study the woman ahead of him. Now with the grime washed off from the rain, he could see that her skin was absolutely flawless. Her hands were small too, and the skin on the back of her hands were un-marred from any sort of labor or fighting.

She had a faraway look to her as she gazed out of the window, watching her surroundings as if she wished she was someplace else. _A daydreamer_ , he concluded, suddenly regretting his decision of being hired by this _pampered scatterbrain_. She wasn't wearing that ridiculous hazmat suit; she had sold it to Daisy before they left Goodneighbor, and now she donned more appropriate road leathers and leather armor. She still insisted on hiding her face with an assault mask whenever she could.

_At least she's quiet_ , he thought.

"You can sleep if you want to," she said, but she never brought herself to look at him, "I'll stay awake and keep watch."

A small scoff escaped from his lips at her suggestion, the very idea almost laughable. "No offense, boss, but this place isn't an ideal place to sleep." He made a vague gesture at the metro station nearby, "We're too close to danger, and subways are crawling with ferals. They come out at night, and they'll be all over us in a few hours. Rain or no rain, we've got to find higher ground."

Dawn seemed unfazed by this, but sighed once more before putting her mask back on. She gathered her pack and made her way outside, not caring if she's getting soaked once more. He placed his ammo back in its respective places and followed her out. She nodded her head to an apartment building a few blocks down the street and walked ahead of him. She knew her way around well enough, and MacCready could only trust her sense of direction and follow obligingly.

There was rubble everywhere when they made their way inside, with trash and broken furniture obscuring and tripping them both up as they progressed deeper into the building. MacCready lost his footing and profanity slipped from his lips before he could stop himself, but he picked himself up and proceeded behind Dawn.

"It's too dark in here," he berated, but reached into his pocket for his own flip lighter to aid him. Dawn picked up on this in sudden realization and paused mid step. She swung her pack forward and rummaged inside once more, and MacCready hoped that she had a flashlight in that bag of hers.

When her hand retreated from her pack, something big and bulky emerged from within. He looked on with curiosity when she clasped it around her wrist and turned a few dials on it. It clicked and buzzed, then the hallway they were in was bathed in green light.

"You have a Pip-Boy?" He said in awe. "So you're from a vault?"

Dawn didn't answer, but just walked ahead of him and began walking up a staircase. He grunted in frustration, not liking the fact that he was blatantly ignored, but followed anyway. A few more flights of stairs later, they walked through more hallways before they came across a locked door.

MacCready reached into the pockets of his duster for some bobby pins, but Dawn abruptly stood in front of him and took out something shiny and metallic from her own pocket. She observed it closely, and in that brief moment MacCready realized that she was holding a door key. She opened the door and slowly trudged inside, the door swinging open in her wake. More questions were raised than answered the longer he traveled with this woman, but he decided to just keep his questions to himself and enter the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.

It was a small apartment, but it was wholly different from the trashed apartments on the floors below. Raiders and scavengers haven't come across this particular apartment yet, so most furniture remained upright and in place. The windows were broken, and there was a large coating of dust and leaves on most surfaces, but otherwise this place was untouched. Dawn placed her pack on the counter top of the open-plan kitchen, and he noticed that some dust was haphazardly wiped off from visits here before. Once again, he chose not to ask any more questions.

"There's a bed in the next room over," she stated, taking off her mask and sitting on a mattress placed by the broken window. "We will leave at sunrise."

He didn't argue and complied, muttering a pedantic "Yes, boss" as he went into the room next to the kitchen. As with the living room, this place was also relatively untouched, but he could tell that a few recent adjustments and activity had been made. The bed sheets were clean, albeit dusty, but he didn't complain. It was most certainly in better condition than all of the beds combined in the Hotel Rexford, and he didn't hesitate to remove his boots and duster before he laid himself down on the squeaky mattress. A few springs were poking into his back uncomfortably, and he readjusted himself to get better comfort.

As he laid on his side, he noticed something on the wall opposite him. There was a picture frame still hung on the wall, a small hand print was smudged over the glass to clear the film of grime from the surface. He sat up to get a better look at it, squinting his eyes in the darkness.

It was a photograph of a woman, donned completely in black and wearing a ridiculous black hat of sorts. She was smiling happily at the camera with a small scroll clutched delicately between small hands, the whole pose looking ludicrous and carefree.

"The hell?" He stood up now and took down the picture, bringing it towards the window in the room to get a better look in the dim light from outside. His own dirty hands wiped off more of the dust from the picture frame, and the picture was much clearer. The smiling woman was staring at him with brown eyes, chestnut hair peeking out from under the black cap she wore, a wedding ring glinting from the left hand that held the scroll. It's a pre-war graduation picture, and she was smiling back at him with pride through the dirty glass frame.

"Boss?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Boss?"

A hushed growl rose up from his throat, as he held the picture frame in his hands.

_No_ , he thought, _that can't be her._

He put it back on the wall, blaming his moment of insanity on the vast amounts of time travel comic books he'd read over the course of his life. MacCready plopped himself back on the bed, no longer caring that the mattress was uncomfortable. Things like these happen, right? There was no way a nonghoulified two hundred year old woman was sleeping in the room next door.

He thought over the possibilities, wild theories, ancestors passing on exact lookalikes for a few generations, whirring around in his head. Once again, the more he thought about Dawn, the more questions were raised. He'd only known this woman for a mere twenty four hours, and he'd never regretted taking up employment before. Not since the Gunners.

The risks were too high, he didn't know this woman from Adam and she never explained to him explicitly what he had been hired for. Throughout their travels she had let him trail along as she ambled around the ruined city, shooting anything that moved in her vicinity like some jumped up kid. She seemed scared of her own shadow, and that sort of mentality would get her killed in the harsh wastelands.

His mind made up, MacCready got out of bed, grabbed the picture frame off the wall, and walked purposefully into the living room. Dawn was still sitting up on the mattress, her head leaning against the windowsill as she watched the feral ghouls stumble along the streets below. She looked up at him, and the more he watched her the more similar she was to the pre-war woman in the photograph.

"I need an explanation," he said, hoping that she wouldn't ignore his questions like before. Thankfully, she didn't, and Dawn sat up with an annoyed sigh.

"What do you want explained?" Her voice was low and defeated, as if she knew this was coming sooner or later.

Now that she was open to questioning, MacCready didn't exactly know where to start.

_The world is your oyster RJ_ , he thought bitterly.

"Well," he began as he gestured vaguely to the picture frame in his hands. Dawn watched it intently. "W-who is this woman in this picture? And why do you have a key to this apartment? And what's with the Pip-Boy? A-and why do you want to hire me for good?"

Dawn didn't answer straight away, and she didn't look directly into MacCready's eyes as she mulled over her words. Eventually she stood up, walked towards him, and gently pried the picture frame from his hands.

"This was my mother's apartment," she began. "I had a spare key in case I wanted to visit. That picture..." Her voice was forlorn, but she paused once again as her expression hardened. "Listen, MacCready...I will explain everything in due time. I just need you to trust me."

That explanation wasn't good enough, and he scoffed at her attempt. Stubbornly, he stood his ground when she tried to walk past him, probably to hang the picture back on the wall, but when she realized that he wasn't happy with her response she stood back and sighed once more in defeat.

"I don't know you," he said slowly, making himself perfectly clear to her. "And I can't trust you because I don't know what I'm here for. At least tell me the reason why you've hired me so that I can at least do my job. How do I know you won't put a bullet in my back?"

The last question visibly disturbed her, as if the mere suggestion of it offended Dawn. She shook her head, lips tightening into an annoyed frown. "You're right..." A hand rose up to brush some of her hair away from her face. "I don't know how to bring it up with you, but I just..."

Her voice trailed off as she shrugged. Dawn pointed toward a chair, wordlessly telling MacCready to sit down, as she settled back down onto the mattress, turning on the light from her Pip-Boy. The room was illuminated a sickly green.

"I'll be straight with you," she began. "I hired you because I need someone to watch my back. I'm from a vault, and I'm totally inexperienced with the world outside of it." Dawn glanced outside the window, her face turning forlorn and sullen again. "I don't know what I'm doing in terms of survival, and I'm surprised I've made it this far." Her brown eyes met his at last. "Over the next few months, I need you to teach me everything you know. I saw you when you took on those raiders at Libertalia, you know exactly what you're doing. You're deadly, you're efficient...and I need to be like that."

There was another pause as Dawn observed his expression. He kept his face straight and his expression even, but Dawn could see from his eyes that he was far from impressed. A beat passed and he reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and lit one swiftly with his lighter. An exhale of smoke later, he shook his head.

"Why?" He asked.

"I need to find my son."

A nerve was struck within him, and he searched her eyes for any indication of dishonesty. There were none.

She was serious.

He knew not to pry, especially now that there was anger simmering beneath her skin. She didn't seem lost, or scared, or wishful...there was a fire in her eyes that screamed at him, the very same look he saw whenever he glanced at his own reflection. The determination was there, and despite their differences, despite them being complete strangers, MacCready knew that they were the same.

He didn't need to know more, because he already knew what this meant to her.

MacCready stretched out his hand, the open cigarette packet facing her like the peace offering from the night before. But this time, it wasn't out of pity. She took one and sparked up, looking out the window to signify that the conversation was over, and they both sat in silence as tendrils of smoke wafted around them. Nothing more needed to be said.

At sunrise, he knew their journey would begin.

 

X

 

They were back on the open road, and MacCready felt like he was in his element. Dawn walked closely ahead, occasionally barking directions over her shoulder as she navigated around the city ruins. He clenched his jaw, not uncomfortable with her being too close to him as they travelled.

"Hey," he called, "You walk on ahead. I'll hang back and watch you from behind."

She seemed unhappy with his suggestion, pausing mid step as she turned to look back at him. "I'm not comfortable with that," she countered. "I don't like being out in the open."

He tutted as he shook his head, raising his rifle to prove his point. "I'm a sniper," he uttered, "I shoot from a distance."

She digested his words, then sighed after careful consideration. "Okay," she huffed as she shifted her weight between her feet. "But...what if I come across any enemies?"

MacCready raised a brow, clearly stumped by how this clueless woman has managed to survive this long. "You shoot them?" He patronized. "Y'know, point your gun? Pull the trigger? Shoot 'til they're dead?" He shook his head, his patience now wearing thin. "Listen, just trust me to cover your back. If you come across someone, duck and cover. I'll handle the rest."

Dawn closed her eyes as she stiffened. She muttered inaudibly to herself, then opened her eyes to look at the mercenary. "Fine, fine," she caved in. "Just...don't miss."

He scoffed at her words, but chose to bite his tongue and let the insult slide.

_Like she could do any better._

The sun was high in the sky, and the heat was almost unbearable as it shined down on the both of them. Sweat beaded on MacCready's face, his mood sullied after walking in the heat for a few hours. Dawn had given up on wearing her mask, and it swung loosely from her hand as she walked on ahead. He observed her, noting how she walked. The way she moved was almost leisurely, as if danger wasn't lurking behind every corner. _Must be nice to be so carefree_ , he thought, but his experiences in the wasteland have quashed away such ways of thinking long ago.

A loud crack echoed through the air, and MacCready immediately aimed his rifle. Dawn didn't seem nearly as alert as she looked around to see what direction the gunshot came from. He grit his teeth in frustration, and at that moment he didn't care if he was going to give away his position. He ran at full pelt towards Dawn and pushed her behind an overturned car for cover before a barrage of bullets peppered the ground they were on mere moments before.

"Shit!" Dawn took out her pistol, shaking hands clicking the safety catch off before she shot blindly over their cover. "Where are they?"

MacCready clenched his jaw as he quickly peeked over the top of their cover, his blue eyes scanning the area for enemies before he crouched back down.

"Three raiders," he shouted. A bullet whistled above him where his head used to be. "I'm gonna get to higher ground, cover me!"

She gawped at him in confusion, her lips mouthing _cover me_ with speculation. MacCready looked up to the heavens with a clenched jaw - _why am I lumbered with this moron -_ before his head whipped back to address her.

"Just shoot in their fuc- in their freaking direction!"

Startled from his outburst, she kept on shooting at the raiders blindly, causing them to scatter as MacCready ran into the building behind Dawn. He jumped over a desk to grab the edge of a hole in the ceiling above, clambering up into the next floor. There was a window to the side, and he quickly kicked the glass to shatter it before bringing up his rifle and resting the barrel on the windowsill.

Dawn frantically shot in the raider's direction until her gun clicked dry. The raiders took advantage of the lull in gunfire, sprinting full-tilt toward her cover. MacCready lined up his sights, his heartbeat thumping in his ears as his barrel followed the movement of a lone raider.

His sights hovered between the raider's eyes. The trigger squeezed. A loud bang, and the raider tripped and fell into a spray of his own blood.

"Sniper!" The raider nearest to Dawn screamed as she ducked for cover. The remaining raider psycho also ducked with her, and began blind firing at the window. MacCready rushed over to the next window and cleared the remaining shards of shattered the glass with the butt of his rifle.

He quickly checked through the window frame for the two raider's positions, but was dismayed when they hid themselves behind a nearby truck. He hissed through his teeth as he reloaded his rifle, peering below to check if Dawn was okay.

"Boss!" He called as he pulled the bolt back and aimed at the truck. "Frag 'em!"

Dawn visibly paled, but she knew she had to draw out the raiders somehow. With determination, she suddenly stood up and ran towards the truck.

She holstered her pistol and started fiddling with something on her chest. MacCready's eyes went wide when he saw her in his sights, and was about to yell at her in anger when he heard her shout.

"I HAVE A BOMB!"

His jaw dropped when the raiders scrambled out of cover and scattered away from her. But his composure returned swiftly as he shot at a female raider that just so happened to be aiming a shotgun at his employer. She screamed in agony when her wrist exploded, splattering blood between herself and Dawn. The shotgun clattered to the ground, and without hesitation, Dawn picked up the weapon and aimed it at the woman's head. She stilled in surrender, whimpering in pain all the while.

MacCready quickly searched for the last raider psycho, who was still running away from Dawn's bomb threat. He aimed his rifle, lined up his sights with his head, and fired a clean shot that pierced through the psycho's skull. His body skidded momentarily before sliding to a stop, now dead.

Sweat dripped from his brow and MacCready let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The mercenary dropped down the hole on the floor and jogged over to Dawn, who was still aiming the shotgun at the female raider's head.

"Just put her out of her misery," he snapped as he reloaded his rifle once more, but Dawn held her position and didn't move.

"She surrendered," Dawn said breathlessly as she tried to reason with him, but MacCready wasn't taking any bullshit today.

He stomped over to Dawn, barging her out of the way and snatched her pistol from her holster. With no hesitation he aimed the gun at the raider and pulled the trigger. It was a quick death, and the body flopped back onto the floor, dark blood spreading from the viscera on her wrist and head. He heard Dawn gasp behind him, and with one hand he clicked the safety back on the gun before shoving it into her chest.

She fumbled with her pistol as she holstered it once more, watching the mercenary walk away from her and crouch at one of the bodies on the ground, searching for ammo.

"MacCready!" She shouted in anger, her voice cracking. "What the hell!? She surrendered!"

MacCready stood back up and faced her, a livid expression contorting his face. "She's a raider!" He yelled. "They don't surrender! As soon as you turn your back on one they pull a knife and stab you from behind!"

Dawn was about to shout back before a reflection caught her eye. She looked at the bleeding corpse at her feet and noticed a sharp combat knife clutched between the body's dead fingers. She kept quiet, and felt stupid for letting her emotions get the better of her judgment. She listened to MacCready's footsteps as he walked back toward her, satisfied with the looted ammo, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"C'mon," he said, nudging her shoulder with his elbow. His voice was gentler now. "All that gunfire must have attracted some attention; let's get out of here before something worse comes along."

Dawn tore her eyes away from the woman and trailed closely behind MacCready, letting him take point and lead their way to safety.

 

X

 

Diamond City, the green jewel of the Commonwealth. MacCready never really took to this part of the city, but it was the closest place he could go to rest and restock. Dawn didn't speak a word during the whole journey there since the raider fight, but it was fine. He was still annoyed with her incompetence during the whole thing, and he knew he would snap at her if she spoke.

_Not exactly a good idea to piss off my employer._

"You, my lady," shouted the local hairdresser, his voice louder than the other merchants in the market. "Your hairstyle is what I call the Scavver Special, the flecks of blood is the main giveaway." He looked over to Dawn, who tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear self-consciously. "Come by if you need a more appropriate cut."

MacCready smirked at Dawn's sudden shyness, but she kept quiet and slowly ambled behind him. Deciding to lighten the mood, he walked over to the power noodle stand in the center of the market, and took a seat on one of the high stools.

"Oh man, you ever had this guy's noodles?" The young merc said with a chuckle as he watched Dawn sit on the stool beside him. "They're amazing!" He looked over at the robot across the bar, who was busy stirring a large pot of broth. "What's up, Taka! Set me up with some of your shima...uh, shimachanga..." He stalled, his face suddenly going blank. "Uh, w-whatever they're called."

It whirred around fluidly before asking _"Nani shimasu-ka?"_

He pointed a finger in recognition and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's the stuff!"

_"Nani shimasu-ka?"_

MacCready leaned languidly on the bar, smirking up at the Protectron in front of him. "Damn right I'll take two servings," he said as he idled on the stool, the grin on his face faltering slightly when he looked back at his boss to see that she was still indifferent. He shook his head defeatedly. "What's up, boss?"

Dawn seemed too busy picking some flecks of blood from her sleeve, a small frown on her face as she was deep in thought. MacCready nudged her with his elbow.

"Hey, come back down to earth space-man," he deadpanned, his face settling into a neutral expression. Dawn looked back to him, wide eyed as she was caught off guard. "Is something wrong?"

"W-wrong?" She repeated, then backtracked, and finally, shrugged. "It's nothing, I've just...got a lot on my mind, that's all."

Takahashi placed the two servings of noodle bowls in front of MacCready, and he slid one of the bowls over to Dawn and passed a pair of crudely made chopsticks to her. "A lot on your mind, huh?" He mused as he placed some caps into the Protectron's outstretched claw. "Tell me about it."

Dawn said nothing at first, she was absentmindedly busy stirring the noodles in the bowl in front of her. "I..." She began. "I-I was just thinking about the raider fight. I made a few mistakes that would've costed my life if you weren't there to watch my back."

He swallowed his mouthful of noodles before answering. "It wouldn't have been that way if you started listening to me every once and a while," he picked up a few strands of noodles with his chopsticks. "Which reminds me," he paused. "I told you to throw some grenades to get them out of cover. Why didn't you?"

A small chuckle escaped from her lips as she raised her wrist up and began turning a few dials on her Pip-Boy. "I didn't have any frags," she answered. "So I took inspiration from a run in with a super mutant suicider once. I played the opening sequence of Red Menace on my Pip-Boy, put it on full volume and pretended it was a mini nuke. The beeping and the flashing light was enough to convince the raiders." She laughed genuinely this time. "My god, you should have seen their faces!"

The whole thing was so ridiculous, even MacCready laughed along with her. He felt a tear gather in his eyes from the mirth of it all, and he hastily wiped it away when his laughter died down. "Oh man," he wheezed, the grin on his face crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That was surprisingly a smart move."

Dawn carried on stirring her noodles, shaking her head in disagreement. "No, that was a dumb move," she corrected. She looked up at MacCready as she watched his grin change into a devious smirk.

"Okay, I guess you just got lucky then," he said before slurping up some noodles. He savored the taste before swallowing. "Listen, we need to work on your gun skills. Your aim is terrible."

"Yeah," she agreed with a brief nod. "I never really touched a gun until I left the vault."

After staring at her food for long enough, she finally attempted to use the chopsticks to eat it. The noodles slipped from her chopsticks messily, splashing the both of them with broth. Dawn chuckled as she tried again.

"It could be worse," he mused as he watched her struggle with her meal. He reached over the counter to grab a spoon and fork and passed it over to her. "At least your gun play isn't as bad as your chopstick skills."

This earned another laugh from Dawn, who placed her chopsticks on the bar and accepted the fork and spoon from his hands.

"Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to release this chapter early, since I'm going to be busy this weekend.
> 
> I am the worst at action scenes, so I want to thank Mr. Snarks and Someone Else Took My Name (what a username!) from fanfiction .net for their invaluable Beta help and critique! These guys are brilliant and are just too precious for this world. Seriously, kudos to them.
> 
> If you have any feedback then let me know! I love critique, so don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts :)
> 
> See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

 

"Oh c'mon, just leave it!" 

Dawn paused what she was doing, her hand grasping at an empty milk bottle and a stunned expression plastered over her face. MacCready was standing in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse, obviously annoyed with Dawn's insistence of exploring the building despite the fact that previous scavengers had already most likely picked the place clean. After an hour or so of sifting through numerous boxes and drawers, there was nothing of value here. 

"Don't make me carry that junk you're holding," he berated her like she was a child, and Dawn certainly felt like she was one. "Drop it and let's go." 

With a stubborn huff she made it her goal to gather as many empty bottles as she could, the small collection in her arms now growing in size. MacCready gawped at her as she went on with her crazy junk spree and ignored him. He left the building, gesturing wildly in the air as he muttered irritably to himself. He stood outside for a few minutes, watching the sun begin to sink low into the horizon before he decided to light a cigarette and just wait for her to finish.  

_Stupid broad..._  

He didn't need to know it was Dawn stumbling behind him. Judging by her weary footsteps and the noisy clink of numerous bottles jostling amongst themselves, she must have hauled a Nuka Cola factory's-worth. 

MacCready watched her as she began setting the bottles in a line on a nearby fence, balancing a few on top of each other and leaving a few on their own. After arranging each one in place she set her hands on her hips, smiling at the line of bottles in front of her. 

She rummaged in her pack, pulling out a modified pipe pistol, and began pacing away from the bottles as she gauged a suitable distance to shoot them. Happy that she was twenty paces away, she faced the bottles head on and stood up straight. She raised her pistol, closed one eye and began shooting. 

Most of them missed, much to his dismay. 

Her magazine clip now empty, she reloaded it with the numerous pre-filled magazines already in her pack, and tried again. 

MacCready shook his head as he took one last drag from his cigarette before he flicked it away. Dawn was too busy concentrating to notice the mercenary scrutinizing her every move. 

"You're doing it wrong," he sighed in defeat. Dawn abandoned her posture and looked at him with confusion. He held out an open hand, his fingers making a beckoning motion to signify he wanted the gun. She placed it tentatively in his palm. 

Without any hesitation he aimed the pistol and shot a bottle off the fence in less than a second. A small smirk ghosted his face when he heard her humph at his targeting skills, but he aimed once more and fired three times in quick succession. Three bottles shattered consecutively, and he gave a sideways glance at the woman next to him. 

"Show off," she muttered as she accepted her pistol back. She aimed once again but before she could pull the trigger his hand gently pushed the pistol down. "What?" 

"Put it away," he instructed. She did as she was told and placed the pistol back in her rucksack. MacCready crouched down and began picking up some pebbles from the ground. After gathering a handful, he stood back up straight and poured the pebbles into her hand. "Now," he said as he pointed downrange, "Hit the bottles." 

Dawn looked at the pebbles in her hand incredulously, failing to grasp the logic behind this new exercise. "You gonna ask me to throw the pistol too?" She retorted, but after he gave her a hard look she chose to say no more.  

One by one she threw each pebble, and was pleased that out of the twelve stones in her hand she had only missed once. MacCready clapped in mock congratulation and quickly ran over to the bottles to readjust and erect some intact bottles that had fallen. 

"See what you did there?" He said as he dusted his hands off, sauntering back towards her. 

"I hit the bottles?" She answered, but he shook his head. 

"Yeah, but not quite the answer I'm looking for," he corrected, "You looked at your target." 

MacCready pointed at her pack, and she quickly realized that he wanted her pistol. She pulled it out, quicker this time, and handed it to him. He took it and pointed out the raised metal at the end of the barrel. "This," he highlighted. "You've been focusing on the sights rather than the target. It's good to have it there so you know where you're pointing, but it's no good to you if you can't see what you're shooting." MacCready diverted his attention back to the bottles, "Were you looking at your hands the whole time when you were throwing those stones at the bottles?" 

"No," she answered, but the logic was now finally beginning to become clear. "I was looking at the bottles." 

"Okay," he smirked, pleased at her revelation. He gave the pistol back to her and folded his arms, shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other. "Just treat the pistol as an extension of your arm. And remember, keep your eyes on the target." 

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you still want me to throw the pistol?" She quipped. MacCready snorted a small laugh and just shook his head. A smile grew on Dawn's face, but it disappeared as soon as she began to concentrate on the task at hand. She aimed, focusing on the empty milk bottle balanced on the fence. A beat later, she squeezed the trigger, and the milk bottle shattered. Trying to suppress the growing smile on her face, she aimed for the next one over. Her next shot destroyed it too, shards sprinkling the ground below. She hit the next one, then the next one... 

_Click._  

The magazine clip was empty, and Dawn was beaming at her newfound achievement. She saw from the corner of her eye that MacCready was grinning too, his hands slowly clapping in genuine celebration. He looked down at her, his blue eyes peeking proudly from under the visor of his hat. 

"Nice shootin', Tex," he drawled in a mock southern accent. She scoffed at his cheesy accent and pulled his hat down playfully before putting her pipe pistol away. He chortled when he fixed his hat back into its respective position. "So, you ready to hit the road?" 

Dawn shrugged. "Sure," she said as she gazed at the setting sun. "I know a place we can stop by." 

 

X 

 

It was dark by the time they reached their destination, and it seemed that only Dawn knew where she was going. MacCready had never ventured this far north before, but he had no other choice but to trust her with taking point. He could see the faint glow of some lights over the horizon, and only when they passed a small hill did he see the settlement ahead. 

Across a wooden bridge and freshwater river, he could see a small settlement with some traders bustling within. A caravan was making their way across the bridge, supplies piled up high on a trundling Brahmin with a female trader towing it along the bridge. He noticed a few men with rifles patrolling the outskirts, and one of them eyed MacCready as they made their way across the bridge. 

"This is Sanctuary," Dawn announced proudly as she walked on. "We can rest up here. It's not exactly quiet, but at least it's safe." 

MacCready followed Dawn wordlessly through the settlement. He became curious when Dawn seemed to know everyone here in the settlement, and many of them looked up to her in respect. Farmers, traders, guards, they all knew her, and that unsettled him slightly. No one, however, gave MacCready a second glance. 

"Hey," she called out to him, beckoning the mercenary closer. "I'll take you to the bunkers, just choose a bed you can put your head down on. I'll show you around the place in the morning." 

She led him to a set of metal dome buildings, with beds lined up in a military fashion. Some beds were obviously owned by others judging by personal belongings scattered over them, but he could see some spare beds at the end of the building. He placed his rifle on his chosen bed, and was surprised that Dawn was also choosing a bed next to him to put her backpack. She brushed her hair away from her face before smiling over at him. 

"Sturges is cooking an amazing Radstag stew, I can bring a bowl over if you're hungry," she stated as she began to empty the contents of her bag. An even smaller bag was produced from her pack and she promptly threw it over to MacCready. He caught it effortlessly, and opened it to see a large pile of bottle caps inside. "Your payment for the week." She said as she pulled out a folder some documents and schematics. "I need to give this to Sturges anyway. So, you want some stew?" 

He was still staring at the bag of caps in his hand, dumbfounded by the amount inside. "Uh, boss," he interjected. Dawn paused what she was doing as she looked at the mercenary with concern. "This is way more than two hundred, plus you've already paid me up front for the week at the Rexford." 

Her lips tightened into a line in confusion. "And?" She shrugged. "We agreed on a two hundred upfront fee, sure, but that right there is this week's salary. The extra is a share in loot." 

MacCready visibly blanched, not quite believing what she was saying. "I thought the share in loot is, y'know, normal stuff like ammo and gear?" 

"Yeah, that too," she mused. "But I do come across some caps every so often." 

"Caps? How the fuck-" he stopped himself and huffed. "How the hell did you manage to find that many caps?" 

Dawn shrugged once again. "Dunno, just lucky I guess." She absentmindedly flicked through the folder in her hands before she faced him again, "Now do you want that stew or not?" 

 

X 

 

The next morning, as promised, Dawn had shown him around the settlement. She introduced him to whoever she could, but soon she was so wrapped up in requests from the settlers she couldn't spare more time to MacCready. She requested him to patrol around the settlement while she was busy, and she will get someone to send for him when she's done. 

He must have lapped around the settlement at least five times, the area now overly familiar to him on his patrol. MacCready placed another cigarette into his mouth and frowned at the nearly empty pack in his hand. He sighed impatiently as he lit it and smoked while he walked the riverfront, eyeing a few bloatflies that were hovering a fair distance downstream. The sun was only just beginning to go down, and he surmised that he has been patrolling for at least four hours. 

A fellow guard walked up to him, a bottle of purified water in hand and his laser rifle slung casually on his back. A large cowboy hat shielded his dark skin from the sun, and he gave him a warm smile as he approached. 

"MacCready?" He asked, and when a nod acknowledged the name he offered the bottled water to the young man, "I'm Preston, sorry I couldn't meet you earlier." 

MacCready thanked him as he took the water from Preston, and he discarded his cigarette before taking a large gulp of water to quench his thirst. Something caught his attention as he finished drinking, and he stayed silent as he tried to strain his ears. There were loud sirens blaring in the distance, and he looked around in alarm for the source of the sound. 

Preston noticed it too, but his reaction was calm. He simply glanced over his shoulder where a large grassy hill overlooked Sanctuary, and then nodded in realization, his expression softening as he looked up the hill. MacCready followed his gaze, and he could see a small metal structure peeking up above the hill, an alarm light flashing red in warning. 

"The hell is that?" He asked him. 

"Dawn must have finished up at the vault," he stated as he made his way back to the settlement, "C'mon, she'll be out soon." 

He followed Preston in silence, noticing the next shift of patrolmen taking their place as they walked to the center of the Sanctuary. Preston guided him back into the bunker, and said that Dawn will be back in a few minutes. MacCready could only nod and wait patiently in the bunker, laying down on his bed with his hat tilted over his eyes. 

"Hey." 

He lifted his hat back up, seeing Dawn standing at the foot of his bed. She seemed to be in a sullen mood, her hands wringing the assault mask clenched between her fingers. He didn't want to pry for the reason, so he pretended he never noticed the change. 

"There you are," he exclaimed cheerfully as he sat up on the bed, "Almost thought you forgot about me." 

A small hum resounded from her throat at his greeting as she forced a smile. It looked wrong on her, but once again, it wasn't his business to ask. 

"There's going to be a small meeting, I'll need you there," she said. "Follow me when you're done." 

"Meeting?" He asked, now anxious, "What's this about?" 

She waved off his concern with a vague gesture and yawned. She looked worn out, and he never noticed the dark circles under her eyes until now. "Don't worry, it's nothing for you to sweat over. I'll be doing most of the talking anyway. Let's go." 

MacCready could only oblige as he followed her back out of the bunker, moseying behind her as they made their way into a pre-war house with a power armor station in the drive. He gawked at the refurbished war machine parked there, Sturges oiling the joints on its hulking shoulders. 

"In here," she called as they made their way inside. The living room was converted into a meeting room of sorts, a large wooden table was situated in the center of the room with all sorts of documents and maps scattered across the surface. There were settlers already in the room, some were sitting, most were standing, and MacCready felt out of place amongst this room full of strangers. Everyone, thankfully, was only looking at Dawn as she soon as she walked into the room. 

Dawn walked to the head of the table and leaned wearily on the wooden surface, the settlers around her making way and giving her more space than anyone else. He looked to the side and was that Preston was stood over her, overseeing everybody. MacCready decided to tuck himself away in a far corner and leaned up against the wall, blue eyes scanning his surroundings. 

"Now that the General is back," Preston began, the whole room now falling silent. MacCready mouthed the word "general" to himself, his brows furrowing in confusion.  

"Any issues or concerns, raise them now." Preston gave. 

A chorus of requests were suddenly chattered across the table, startling MacCready with the complexity of it all. Regardless of the verbal chaos, Dawn was handling it quite well. She negotiated many of the subjects with ease, arranged supply lines with diplomatic grace and talked terms with the proceeds and protection towards the local farms. After what seemed like an age, Dawn finally cast a glance of mutual assurance at the merc in the corner. 

"Last but not least," Sturges announced as he walked into the room, wiping his greasy hands with a dirty rag cloth. "I've looked at the schematics from your contact in the Glowing Sea." He pointed at the blueprints on the table. "Preston and I can arrange for all of the construction materials, but all we need now is the correct coordinates to calibrate it in the right direction." 

Dawn was still looking at MacCready, an emotion pooling in her eyes which the mercenary could not quite place.  

"My contact told me how I can get the coordinates we need," Dawn disclosed to the group. "I need to kill a courser and get at its chip." She stood up straight and dropped her gaze to the table. "I can't guarantee that I will make it out alive, but it's the only way. I've barely survived the Glowing Sea, I was nearly killed by Kellogg..." 

Preston visibly stiffened, a frown setting into his round features. "General, take me with you-" 

She quickly held her hand up, stopping Preston from saying any more. "Preston," she sighed, "I can't take you. I need you to be with Sturges, and to look after the Minutemen while I'm gone." She gave a fleeting glance back at the mercenary in the corner. "I already have someone to accompany me. As much as I would love to have someone like you – someone I can trust – I can't afford to lose you." Preston looked stung, but he stayed quiet. "I need you here, Preston." 

"Yes, General."  

Despite his sudden professional tone, the concern was evident in his demeanor. He looked around to address the surrounding settlers, "Meeting adjourned." At his words, everyone began to shuffle for the exit, all of them making their way out in an orderly fashion. 

Dawn walked slowly passed MacCready and left the room. He made his way to follow but stopped when a firm hand held his shoulder. He looked behind him to see Preston towering over him, his brown eyes boring into his gravely, "Keep her safe, MacCready." 

The urgency in his tone stopped the young man from quipping back at him, and he didn't know that he was holding his breath until Preston lifted his hand from MacCready's shoulder. Preston gave him a terse nod before leaving the building, the young man now left alone in the house to his own devices. 

 

X 

 

"I could really use a cigarette," MacCready sighed as he dismantled his rifle, cleaning the barrel and oiling the moving parts. He chewed his bottom lip as he worked, his now greasy hands working deftly around his beloved rifle. Dawn was in the next bed over, scrolling through the map on her Pip-Boy and occasionally switching the radio on and off. The noise she was making was starting to irk him, and after one click too many he set down his disassembled rifle on the bed with force, "Hey, quit it would ya?" 

Dawn jumped at his outburst and immediately turned off her Pip-Boy with a panicked click. "Sorry," she stuttered as she hastily brushed some of her hair from her face, "I was just checking something." 

MacCready only shook his head, clearly not impressed with how childlike she was acting. He returned to his rifle, putting it back together quickly and precisely. He noticed that Dawn was watching him as he did so, observing his hands as he worked. 

"You seem to know your way around guns," she lamented when he was realigning his sights, "Who taught you?" 

"No one," he said simply, "Pretty much self-taught." 

Dawn hummed in thought, looking at her own 10mm pistol on the table between their beds. "I wish I had the knack for it," she looked back at him, "Like you." 

He hesitated at her words, but quickly recovered and finished with his rifle. Once done, he placed it carefully under his bed, positioning it so it was easily within reach. "Well, you hired me to teach you, boss." He leaned back on the bed, putting his hat on the table and reaching for a rag he placed there to remove the excess oil from his hands. "Don't worry, I'll change you from a pampered vault dweller into a hardened mercenary like myself." 

He heard her scoff at his words. "Okay, hotshot," she laughed, all traces of her sullenness gone. "Get some sleep. We hit the road tomorr-" 

"General!" 

A settler quickly ran into the bunker, sweat shining on his brow from his haste. He took a brief moment to catch his breath. "General, our patrolmen have spotted a threat across the river." 

Dawn sat up quickly, shoving her boots on and grabbing her pistol. MacCready also took this as an opportunity to jump into action.  

"Raiders?" Dawn said as she clipped on her harness, but the settler replied with a grave shake of the head. "Then what?" she pressed. 

The settler's next words made the blood in MacCready's veins run cold. 

"No, General. Gunners." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks once again to my Beta, Mr. Snarks! Couldn't have asked for a better editor!
> 
> A special mention to all of you who have also commented on this fic! Thank you so much, you are all so wonderfull :)
> 
> Do let me know of your thoughts, I love all feedback.
> 
> See you next week x


	4. Chapter 4

 

"Gunners?" Dawn spat out the word with venom. "The hell do those assholes want?" 

The settler was still out of breath, his calloused hand clutching at the collar of his patched shirt. "We don't know, General," he panted, eyes wide, "There's a small group of them waiting at the bridge. One of them was yelling, said they wanted to make an offer." 

She nodded in understanding, her expression hardening as she stomped out of the bunker to follow the messenger. MacCready followed her out, making sure that he stayed close to the shadows in fear of being recognized. There was a sense of urgency and panic amongst the settlers, most of them arming themselves and scouting their immediate vicinity for any threats. He saw an Asian couple usher an elderly woman inside one of the shacks, much to her protest, but the skittish man insisted that it was for her safety. 

"General!" A shout to his left. He looked round to see Preston sprinting towards Dawn, his laser musket in tow. Preston noticed the mercenary behind her, but made no effort to acknowledge MacCready. "They're at the bridge." 

This only caused Dawn to jog to the entrance of Sanctuary, determination in hers and Preston's faces. MacCready followed them cautiously, his blue eyes darting around to try and find any vantage points within Sanctuary. As they rounded the corner he saw a small group of mercenaries on the other side of the bridge, all of them menacing and holding their weapons with a vice grip. Dawn stopped just outside the last row of pre-war houses, turning around to address them both. 

"Both of you, stay here." She ordered before she went on her way, but Preston immediately placed a hand on her shoulder and stood in front of her. 

"Dawn, stop." He looked worried, a gentleness now softening his previous expression. "The Gunners are nothing but dogs with guns. They know no diplomacy, they'll just betray you as soon as they get the chance-" 

"I have no other choice," she pleaded desperately. Preston opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke quickly to interrupt. "Preston, diplomacy is the only true skill I have. It's the only thing out here in the wasteland that I'm not useless at!" She quickly gasped with regret, now full of remorse for raising her voice at him. Her eyes started to water, but she held back tears with the resolve to appear strong. "Please..." 

Preston stilled as he quickly searched her eyes. With nothing else to say he sighed deeply and slowly removed his hand. He stepped aside, and Dawn walked briskly past him, her posture stiff and her eyes downcast. MacCready watched her as she walked across the bridge and stopped halfway. He heard one of them whistle crudely, a gaggle of laughter following the sound as they sneered amongst each other. MacCready spoke to Preston quietly, without taking his eyes off the action, "You any good with that thing?" He was referring of course to the laser weapon in the man's hands. 

"I'm good enough," Preston answered. 

A tall man donned in combat uniform sauntered towards Dawn, his head tilted cockily as he towered over her. It was too far to hear what they were saying, but judging by Dawn's body language the conversation had taken a direction that she was not happy with. MacCready observed the rest of the group, his jaw clenching when he could only count fourteen of them. Thankfully, no one within the group were Gunners that he recognized. 

"Fourteen shooters," Preston confirmed unprompted. 

"Mm-hm," MacCready mumbled, "Plus change, I'm sure." 

"Not a lot of cover between us and th-" 

The tall gunner on the bridge suddenly grabbed Dawn by the collar of her road leathers, his face right up beside hers as he uttered hushed threats. Preston powered up his laser musket but Dawn quickly raised her hands behind her, her head twisting to face them and shout "Stand down!" 

Preston's jaw clenched as he obeyed, but he made sure that his gun was ready to fire at a moment's notice. The Gunner laughed as he let go of her, sneering at the settlers who were aiming their guns at him. They said their final words, discussion now over, and he walked away to his group while Dawn walked shakily back to Sanctuary. 

"We have one hour," she said, her breathing heavy with restrained panic as she quickly made her way to the main building. She took her pistol out of her holster and fired two rounds into the air. "Minutemen! Meeting room! Now! No-body attacks them unless they attack us!" 

Everyone of importance and of high rank immediately assembled inside the pre-war house, each one stone faced and serious. They all jostled passed MacCready, much to his growing ire, but his patience finally wore thin when Dawn halted him at the doorway, her arm barring him from entering. 

"No, MacCready," she instructed tersely. "This is Minutemen business now. Go elsewhere and wait for me." 

Dawn didn't wait for him to answer and entered the room, leaving MacCready slack jawed and stunned outside. Preston slipped passed him to shut the door, but not before he gave MacCready a hard stare that screamed know your place. He could hear her voice through the broken windows - suggestions and tactics no doubt being pitched across that wooden table - and the replies echoing back from the people she deemed important. 

 _They're playing you for a fucking fool_ , he wanted to tell her. He knew how these assholes worked. He used to be _one of them_ , for god's sake, but he was too caught up with being patronized by the Minutemen to confront her. 

He took a second to gather his thoughts before he grit his teeth in anger. Not wasting a moment he quickly ran to the bunker. He spotted his duster folded up on the bed, his bag of caps bulging under his pillow. He grabbed them both and hastily put on his hat. 

The mercenary thought about Dawn's previous words to him, and he scowled at being placed in the back seat. 

 _Fuck that, boss._  

He slinged back his rifle and headed outside, slinking away into the shadows as he sneaked to the back of the bunker. He slipped passed a patrolman, keeping himself out of sight as he escaped Sanctuary. 

 

X

 

 

MacCready moved quietly as he moved through the brush, his body hunched as he kept his profile low. He knew that the Gunners by the river were only there for show. They were on the offensive, which meant that the rest of the group were hidden away, waiting to attack from behind. 

There were hushed whispered ahead of him – and God he _hated_ being right – but they were all out of his sight to gauge exactly how many Gunners were hidden away. 

Sneaking between the scorched trees, he slowly made his way towards the group of Gunners in front. He hid behind the trunk of a particularly large tree, his mind now whirring as he planned his next plan of action- 

An arm snapped round from behind him and pulled him into a stranglehold, his windpipe slowly being crushed to prevent him from yelling. Stars began to swim across his vision as he was dragged towards the group. The hold on him suddenly loosened and he was dropped on his back, gasping for air. 

"Well, if it isn't MacCready." 

He leaned up on one elbow, the other hand massaging his neck as he looked up at a man in power armor standing over him. The young mercenary scowled as he glared back the Gunner, vitriol pooling in his blue eyes. 

"Winlock," he spat out the name like a bad taste in his mouth. "Should 'a known your slimy ass would be here-" 

All breath left him as the heavy metal of Winlock's foot pressed down onto MacCready's chest, all air leaving him as the suited mercenary leaned down menacingly. 

"I'm giving you five seconds to tell me why I shouldn't crush a deserter like you to death." 

MacCready's hands scrabbled over the metal plates in a panicked effort to push him off. Winlock's weight shifted to allow him to breathe, and MacCready gasped for breath once more. Now knowing that his life was timed by the second, he grabbed his bag of caps and threw it at Winlock. Winlock caught it, but made no effort to look at its contents and passed it to the man next him. 

"Gosh darn it, MacCready," Winlock growled, mocking the young man's aversion to cursing, "In case you need reminding, your debt is much bigger than that. Four thousand caps is what we agreed, now pay up." 

"Four thousand?" MacCready protested, his eyes wide, "We agreed on two thousand, you lying son of a-" 

He was cut off once again by Winlock's boot, more weight this time pressing onto MacCready's ribcage. 

"Your loss," he sneered, "I guess I can make up the rest of the caps by selling your son to some slavers. Duncan, was it?" 

Genuine fear flashed across MacCready's face this time, and Winlock reveled at the power he now had over him. "I know where he is...and after I'm done with you, I'll send your severed finger to him as a little birthday present-" 

"W-wait!" 

Winlock stopped pressing down, his sneer growing at MacCready's wheezed plea. He tilted his head, humoring himself as he looked down at the desperate mercenary at his feet. "Last words?" He jeered. 

"I know the leader of the Minutemen!" He wanted to kick himself so hard for blurting out such a useless plea, but it was the only coherent thought in MacCready's addled mind. 

This caught Winlock's interest however, and his smirk momentarily faltered, but he kept his foot firmly pressed onto the young merc's chest. "Go on," he ushered. 

MacCready was dizzy from the lack of oxygen and his brain was racing with frantic thoughts – _think, RJ, just think of anything_ \- but his mind screamed for Duncan's safety. "I know why you're here," he began, his mouth dry, "You're here to take this outpost and have Gunner control over the north of the Commonwealth. I know your little negotiation with the Minutemen General is a sham, I mean, it's worth a shot to see if they surrender Sanctuary easily to save you on ammo and men..." He was clutching at straws now. It's no good telling Winlock his own plan. "I'll keep it simple; you need me." 

Winlock leered at the young man at his feet, watching the fear in MacCready's eyes slowly disappear. With anger Winlock shifted his foot upwards, his foot now on MacCready's head in preparation to crush his skull. 

"And why the fuck would I need you, boy?" He seethed, spittle raining down from his outburst. 

"I now have access to Minutemen plans, information, locations," MacCready rambled, his head pounding from the weight. "I can get anything you want from the inside. You can get rid of the Minutemen once and for all and just-" A strained gasp escaped him when his mind looped back to Duncan's face. "Please leave my son out of this, j-just tell me what you need me to do!" 

The squeezing feeling on his skull stopped, and after what felt like an eternity the weight finally lifted. He took in deep breaths in an effort to calm his nerves, a horrendous feeling now growing at the pit of his stomach. MacCready looked back up at Winlock, the Gunner's expression unreadable. 

"Send couriers to the Mass Pike Interchange," Winlock instructed, "I want locations of all of their outposts, supply routes and whoever else is in command. Tell your general to give us a share of farm produce for the Mass Pike to feed our recruits, and we'll leave this place peacefully." 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck..._  

A large laser rifle pointed down at the young mercenary before Winlock added; "If you fuck up one more time, I'll make sure to mail you back Duncan's little finger." 

MacCready stayed silent, but nodded in grave understanding. 

 _The fuck have I done?_  

 

X

 

 

The journey back to Sanctuary was all a blur, and MacCready thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't seen on the way back there. He stumbled his way over to the main building, barging his way into the main meeting room despite Dawn's previous instruction to stay out. Preston's shoulders rose, his face stern when his eyes locked onto MacCready. 

Dawn's voice carried on as she surmised her plan, oblivious to the heated stare between Preston and her hired gun. 

"We can take them from this side of the river, I want three of our patrolmen to go around the bank to flank them-" Dawn quickly faltered as she spotted MacCready across the table, her expression now livid at his insubordination, "I told you, you can't be here!" 

"If you were planning an attack, there are more Gunners behind the hill," he interjected, pointing at the wooded area outside the window opposite them, "I've scouted the area. We are surrounded." 

The surrounding Minutemen fell silent, Preston's face now disturbed even more so, "You mean to tell me there's more of them out there?" 

MacCready nodded once more then turned his attention back to Dawn, "Boss, I need to speak with you in private." 

Dawn gave Preston a conflicted glance before she let out a heavy sigh. Her shoulders hung low as she walked purposefully towards MacCready, grabbing his arm harshly to lead him outside. They rounded the corner and stood behind the house, the dark shadows underneath Dawn's eyes made ever more evident in the moonlight. Her brow was furrowed as she faced him impatiently. 

"What is it?" She said, crossing her arms. MacCready took in a deep breath, choosing his words very carefully. 

"Boss, you have to negotiate with them," he began, "You won't be able to defend against them, you'll lose too many people." He gestured around him, Dawn following his gaze to the settlers nearby, "You have farmers, traders, engineers...but they're not killers. The Gunners, they are all highly trained and very dangerous. You'll be putting too many lives at risk." 

"I-I know," she stammered, the weight of the situation pulling her down, "But this is our home! They made it perfectly clear that they want us to either surrender Sanctuary or they'll gun us down. Nothing else." She let out a shaky breath as she brushed back her hair, all traces of hope now gone from her eyes, "Now you tell me there's more of them hiding away...and I just- I-I don't know what to do anymore..." 

MacCready watched her as her shoulders began to tremble, but Dawn was trying her absolute hardest not to let her emotions get the better of her. As a last resort he bent down and placed both of his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing them in reassurance. 

"You said early on that your only skill in the Commonwealth is diplomacy," he spoke softly, "I've got connections in Goodneighbor, and I've heard through the grapevine that the Gunners are recruiting at the Mass Pike Interchange." Dawn looked up and met his eyes, studying his expression as he talked. "They need a constant source of food to keep up the flow of new mouths to feed. I'm sure you can work something out." 

The silence between the two of them was agonizing, and MacCready sincerely hoped that she will take his advice. Dawn didn't look any less scared, but hope was beginning to come back to her brown eyes. 

"What if they won't take my offer?" She whispered, and MacCready could only squeeze her shoulders to keep her from getting too caught up in her doubts. 

"I believe in you," he assured, but he found it difficult to find any truth in his words. He had known this woman for barely a week, but right now she was the only chance he had at keeping his son safe. The sinking feeling in his stomach grew to an unbearable size when Dawn smiled back at him, taking his statement – _his lie_ – to heart. 

"Thank you," she said, the smile on her face sincere, "I'm glad I've hired you...you've given me some helpful advice during the past week." 

 _God, it's too easy to lie to her..._  

He found it difficult to smile back, the guilt in his conscience now overpowering. 

"It's what I'm here for, boss." 

 

X 

 

 

The hour was up, and the Gunners across the river shouted for Dawn to come back to the bridge. When Dawn and the Minutemen assembled at Sanctuary's entrance a heavy silence fell over them all. She walked ahead on her own, just like before, and conversed with the tall Gunner on the broken bridge. There was no shouting this time, but the discussion was taking longer than the first meeting. 

MacCready stuck to the shadows once more as he observed the negotiation from afar, silently praying that Dawn's self-proclaimed diplomacy skills were as good as the others believed. Regardless of the outcome, he knew he was in trouble, but for Duncan's sake he knew he had no choice but to betray the Minutemen if she succeeded. 

 _Whatever the cost_ , he thought to himself. 

After what seemed an age, the Gunner on the bridge walked back to his group whilst Dawn stood her ground. The tall mercenary whistled loudly through his teeth and the Gunners retreated. No one in the settlement dared to speak, and all eyes were on Dawn as she trudged slowly back to Sanctuary. 

She walked up to Preston and nodded tersely before they walked wordlessly back to the center of Sanctuary. MacCready couldn't wait any longer, so with a huff he made a beeline in Dawn's direction. She turned around cautiously as she heard the mercenary's footsteps and then trailed into a stop as she faced him. 

"Boss," he called as he halted in front of her, "What did they say?" 

Preston looked to Dawn too, and the two men waited tensely for an answer. 

"I offered all produce from Sunshine Tidings farm to go to the Mass Pike Interchange, on the condition that they will leave and steer clear of the north." A shaky hand rose to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "They agreed." 

MacCready released a strained sigh of relief, "So we're safe, then." 

Dawn nodded, her eyes averted to the ground.  

"Yeah..." She whispered, "For now, we're safe." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to release this chapter early, but unfortunately I had a slight medical mishap so I couldn't really function properly for the past few days. Don't worry, I'm fine now!
> 
> Special thanks once again to Mr. Snarks for the Beta help! 
> 
> You have no idea how much grief this chapter gave me and oh my good-giddy-aunt if it wasn't for Mr. Snarks then this chapter would be a huge mess (for srs I had freaking palpitations!) 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading! And thank you for the kind comments and reviews so far :)


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since the Gunners confronted Sanctuary, and Dawn had decided to leave her settlement behind to run some of her promised errands out in the wasteland. With all of the small tasks now completed, Dawn took it upon herself to trek back to the C.I.T. ruins, MacCready as her chosen companion for this particular stint. As days passed, he found that his patience was constantly wearing thin. 

The week drew to a close, and Dawn realized that with her shortage of caps, she had to resort to scavenging within the partially demolished buildings around this rundown Boston. MacCready previously barked his thoughts about her junk hoarding, but she carried on regardless. 

After all, she has a salary to pay. 

"Boss!" He called. Her back was turned from him as she was busily rummaging away in an old store.  

"C'mon, it's been hours. Let's go." He shouted with finality, like calling in a dog. 

She ignored him. As usual. 

_No_ , he thought, he's fed up of being ignored. 

"For the love of..." He cut himself off before he would say something regrettable, then stomped up to her to see what junk she'd found this time. 

MacCready stared at the object in Dawn's hand. 

It was a blue telephone, crusted with dirt and grime, the plastic casing cracked from where it was previously dropped. The handle was missing, the frayed wires that sprouted from the bottom of the main body was the only evidence that a receiver had ever existed, and there were numerous holes dotting the dial where the buttons used to be. He stared at the plastic monstrosity for a little longer before he slowly looked up at Dawn, who was looking at him expectantly. 

"What?" She asked as she raised an encouraging brow. 

MacCready's only reaction was to stare at the broken telephone once more, then promptly walk away. 

"H-hey!" She stammered, shoulders slumping as she tripped up to him, "What's with the face?" 

He gave her an incredulous glance as he stopped mid-step. "Because you're crazy," he goaded, and pointed an accusing finger at the phone, "Who the hell are you going to call on that damn thing? A shrink?" 

An indignant huff slipped from her lips as she pouted, an action that irritated MacCready so much he walked off without waiting for her. Dawn shoved the destroyed telephone into her pack – which was already bulging from other dilapidated pre-war relics – and then stomped up beside him. His foul mood was apparent from his constant scowling, and over the past week alone he had berated her about everything she did, no matter how big or small the issue. 

"Do you have to stomp around like that?" Another offhand remark was thrown at her from over his shoulder, "You're gonna push your foot into a pothole." He strode faster to get some distance away from her, "Then you'll break your ankle or something..." 

Dawn huffed again at his words, but heeded them and stepped carefully at the rubble beneath her boots. "Like you care if I break my ankle or not," she spat as she hoisted her pack further up her shoulder. He only looked back to shoot her another scowl. 

"You're right," he said, "I don't care. If I had to choose between carrying you or that bag full of junk, I'd choose the junk." 

Her eyes trailed down to look at the ground, her arms swinging loosely as she trudged up to follow him. "It's not junk..." She lamented as she weakly defended the hoard on her back. 

MacCready looked up to the sky again, and it took every inch of willpower within him to refrain from screaming like a mad man. A strangled growl gurgled from his throat instead, and with his moment of rage now over, he expelled the rest of his frustration by booting an aluminum can by his feet. He took in a few deep breaths, promised to himself to remain calm, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

All traces of calm immediately left him when he discovered the box was empty. 

Dawn asked "Hey, are you alri-" 

"Shut up!" He snapped as he whirled around, throwing the hollow box as far as he could manage. Dawn quickly stepped back in reflex, and MacCready noticed it. A deep exhale through his nose later, he raised his hands up in some odd apologetic gesture. "I-I'm sorry..." He made a move to walk up to her, but Dawn instantly flinched back. 

Something within him snapped, and he stilled at once after witnessing her reaction. The dark pit in his stomach weighed a little heavier, but he made no effort to show that to her. He quenched the urge to yell at her again, to reprimand her for recoiling at his outburst, but he thought better of it and dismissed her stunned expression by walking ahead. 

Dawn recovered from his sudden outrage and decided to overtake the mercenary and take point. She never looked back to see if he was still following, too focused on the towering obelisk that peeked over the broken buildings ahead. 

He watched her as she turned determinately into an alleyway. 

"Dawn!" 

MacCready was too late with the warning, and Dawn realized her mistake as soon as she heard a beep beneath her feet. She faltered momentarily, but as soon as she heard the second beep she lurched into action. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she ran full pelt away from the fragmentation mine, and a suffocating pressure engulfed her whole body when the explosion boomed behind her. 

Small shards of metal and gravel scraped and embedded into the exposed skin of her neck. A cloud of dust cleared from the air as she stumbled to a stop on the other side of the newly-formed crater. MacCready watched her from the other end, too cautious to run down the same alleyway in case there were more mines in their way. 

Dawn huffed, skin going white from the shock of what had just happened, and for a second MacCready thought she was going to vomit, but she eventually stood up straight and reached down her collar for something hidden beneath her top. A rope necklace dangled out in the air; something gold glinted in the sunlight but it was quickly hidden from view when both of Dawn's hands clasped around it. 

Some breathless words were muttered between her dry lips, and the necklace was tucked back away as quickly as it came. 

"Boss?" MacCready called out to her, but she remained in place as she tried to control her breathing.  

"Boss!" 

This time she heard him, her head whipped round to face him, but a new confused expression dawned upon her features. She clicked her fingers experimentally next to each of her ears as she listened intently to the sound, before her arms dropped down to her sides, defeated. 

"I'm deaf!" She shouted, more to herself than to him, "I'm fucking deaf!" 

Despite the risk, MacCready decided to make his way slowly to her through the alleyway, watching his footing to prevent any more mines being triggered. "Calm down," he chided as he walked, "You're just overreacting." 

Dawn hummed to herself when he reached her, her voice now changing pitch to gauge exactly how much she could hear her own voice. The sounds she was making was starting to annoy him, and he quickly clicked his fingers obnoxiously in front of her eyes. She stopped. 

"Quit it," he scolded as the mercenary quickly checked the back of her neck. Despite the drops of blood now beading up from her skin, it was only minor shallow scratches from the shrapnel. 

_Thank God..._  

"Watch where you're stepping or you're gonna lose your goddamn foot next time!" MacCready added as he stepped away from her. 

"What?" She blurted, her voice now louder than usual, "You sound muffled, what did you say?" 

Anger began to simmer within MacCready again. He crouched down, his expression neutral as he exaggerated the movement of his lips as he spoke. "Watch where you step, or your legs get blown off." Satisfied that she finally understood him – he tried to ignore his guilt for patronizing her – he stood up straight to cross his arms. He may have not considered himself to be a particularly tall person, but right now he towered over her with disapproval. The sun was directly above them, and his hat casted an ominous shadow over his eyes, rendering them unreadable. 

She shook her head with disgust, clearly not impressed by his attitude during the last week, and reached into her pocket to pull out a small handkerchief to wipe the blood from her neck. She grit her teeth when the cloth touched one of the deeper cuts, the material old and scratchy, but gave up. 

She looked up worriedly at the mercenary in front of her. "My ears are ringing," she began, "How long until it stops?" 

He shrugged, which didn't reassure her in any way. "Could be hours, could be days," he drawled as he made a move, "Just be thankful you have all of your limbs." 

Dawn sulked behind him as she shirked her backpack once more, feeling sheepish for making yet more mistakes in front of the mercenary. The sinking feeling in MacCready's stomach lessened, but it was still substantial enough to sour his mood whenever she was nearby, and in an effort to lessen it further he increased the distance between them. Dawn took the hint, and kept her distance. 

 

X

 

They eventually reached Bunker Hill; the ruined obelisk served as their waypoint as they hiked through the carnage that was Boston. MacCready stopped at a road crossing, looking back momentarily to check if Dawn was still following. She was, and she seemed to struggle from today's travels. 

"This'll be a good place to hunker down," he announced, nodding at the fortified scrap walls that surrounded the monument. Dawn eventually trudged up to him, her breathing heavy as she looked in awe at the monument. There was slight shock in her features as she stared, and MacCready smirked at her expression. "Pfft," he scoffed, "If you think this monument is impressive, you should see the one in downtown D.C." 

"Hey! You two!" 

The duo looked up at the guard towers, seeing a blonde woman standing above the fortified walls. MacCready gave her a brief wave, but quickly raised both of his arms in surrender when he saw a patrolman aim their weapons at him. "Whoa, whoa!" He yelled, "We're friendlies!" 

The woman on the wall crossed her arms, taking his words in consideration. "Caravan or Raider?" She called. 

MacCready opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Dawn shouting back at her. 

"What?" Dawn hollered, her brows furrowing in concentration. 

The woman rolled her eyes as she uncrossed her arms. "I said; Caravan or Raider? Which are you?" 

"What?" Dawn repeated, cocking her head and putting a hand to her ear. "I-I really don't understand what you're asking!" 

"Seriously?" The woman mirrored MacCready's incredulous expression. "This is Bunker Hill. All of the Commonwealth's major caravans come through here." 

MacCready quickly stepped in front of Dawn to stop her from answering, her clueless naivety had finally irked him to his limit. "Ignore my boss, Kessler," he called, "She had a close call with a land mine, might'a killed her last brain cell. We just need to get in to stock up and rest." 

Kessler's eyes squinted as he talked, and they widened again when she managed to place his voice. "MacCready?" She asked as she lowered her gun. "You should've said it was you. Been a long time since you've last been here. C'mon through." 

The wooden gates clattered open at her words. The wooden structure juddered as the gate stopped, the entrance guarded by a large brass statue of a pre-war man, his pose patriotic and heroic. MacCready stole another glance at his employer, her face still pensive as she stared at the monument behind the statue. 

They both entered the gated settlement, MacCready walking straight to the left in search for the bar. He noticed an absence at his side, no sound of heavy footsteps following him as he walked on. Concern fell upon him as he turned around, searching the crowd behind him for Dawn. He looked back, seeing her rooted to the ground as she just stared at the monument. 

_The hell is up with her?_  

He went back to her with quick strides, standing in front of her to obscure her trance with the building. Her eyes faltered, as if she was remembering where she was, then hastily brushed her hair behind her ear. 

"S-sorry..." She breathed, her eyes downcast. "I was just..." She trailed into inaudible mumbles as she hastily walked away, attempting to distract herself by browsing the market and their stock. 

"Hey, boss," he walked up in step with her, "What's going on?" 

His concern was wasted on her. She ignored him as she picked through her overfilled bag. A small handful of caps emerged in her grasp, but before MacCready could question her she forcibly pushed them into his hands. She waved him away in a wordless dismissal. 

Now thoroughly confused, he chose to leave her alone, and abandoned her in the marketplace.  

He weaved through a crowd of traders as he aimed to get to the other side of the settlement. A merchant stall caught his attention – cigarette cartons were piled high on the display – and he quickly bought his fill from the trader. MacCready knew he was being slightly overpriced, but his need for cigarettes curbed his need to argue about being taken advantage of. Nevertheless, he got his precious smokes, which left him with the task of finding the nearest bar. 

He needed some decent whiskey. 

 

X

 

It was night time, the occupants of the bar now trickled down to a handful of people, MacCready included. He was nursing a glass of bourbon in his hands, watching the brown liquid disturb as he absentmindedly tapped the sides of the glass with his fingers. 

"The hell is taking the woman so long..." He sighed into his glass when he brought it back up to his lips. His drink was bitter, but it was the only alternative; the last of the whiskey had depleted before MacCready and Dawn arrived there. 

"Hey." 

He didn't need to look to know the voice belonged to Dawn. Her feet crunched against the gravel as she walked up to him, only flitting his gaze away from his drink to see her sit on the stool beside him. 

"Sorry I kept you waiting," she sighed. She had a bag of caps in her hand, and when she settled in her seat she gently passed it to the mercenary. "It's a tough crowd here, took me a while to haggle the right price, but I got the caps we need." She raised a hand to the bartender, catching his attention to request a drink of her own.  

"Your pay for the week," she gestured to the bag of caps, which was still resting the same place where she left it. 

A tired sigh came from between his lips as he lethargically reached for his pay. He weighed it between his hands before he pocketed the bag, averting his attention back to his drink when done. 

"Thanks," he muttered, "How'dya get the caps?" 

She laughed to herself at his question, the mirth returning to her smile. "I know you hate it when I gather junk, but all of those old pre-war electronics I found fetched me the right price. You just need to know what to say." 

He snorted, remembering her previous words back in Sanctuary. 

_Diplomacy is her only skill._  

Her _only_ skill. In a world filled with monsters and cutthroats, her bread-and-butter is making friends.  

He snorted and raised his glass to his lips. 

"How much did the busted telephone get you?" He mumbled. He was curious now. It was the stupid broken phone that set him off in the first place, but now he wanted to understand what sort of potential she saw in objects such as those. 

She tapped a finger on her chin as she tried to recall which merchant she managed to sell it to. "I think it's forty caps?" She pondered over her words, then smiled in recognition, "Yeah, forty caps. The merchant by the entrance was the hardest to bargain with, but it was worth it since he gave me the highest price out of all of them." 

He coughed into his drink, shocked that she somehow managed to sell her junk for ludicrous prices. "How the fu-" He cleared his throat, "How the heck did you manage that?" 

"Easy," she smiled to the bartender when he brought over a bottle of beer. "Don't sell it as junk." 

A slight frown fell upon him, confused at her logic. "Y-you lost me," he slurred. 

Dawn sighed. She busied herself by opening her beer bottle on the edge of the bar, struggling to get the cap off the bottle. MacCready reached over to help her, but she waved him off as she determinedly tried to pry it off herself. He shook his head at her dismissal, but gave his attention back to her when she managed to pop her bottle open. She placed the bottle cap on the counter as a tip. 

"Sturges," she started, "I watched him salvage some electricals from a hotplate once. He always found a use for anything. That's why he's our advisor for defending our settlements." 

MacCready noted Sturges' position, remembering his deal with Winlock. A bitter taste rose from the back of his throat, and he was sure it wasn't the bourbon. "He's the most qualified grease-monkey in the Commonwealth!" He exhaled sardonically, trying to take his mind off of it. 

Dawn didn't notice his change in mood, and carried on explaining, "Anyway, point is, you have to gloss over what the object is and find a use for the object in the future." She sipped her beer leisurely, "Sell the idea, not the object." 

He nodded, processing her words. Nope, he thought, still don't know what she's talking about. 

"I lost you, didn't I?" She deadpanned when she noticed his blank expression. Another sigh, then reached into her pack to bring out a small object. She placed it slowly in front of him, upon closer inspection he saw that it was a pen. He picked it up, looked at it closely, then stared back at her. 

"It's a pen," he stated. 

"I know it's a pen." 

"Y-yeah, I know, but..." He looked at it again, "What do you want me to do with it?" 

Dawn smiled as she leaned her elbow upon the bar, her hand supporting her chin. "Sell me the pen," she said simply. 

His gaze flitted between her eyes and the pen. After much deliberation he placed his glass on the counter and held the pen delicately between both hands. "Well," he licked his lips, "This is a pen." 

"I know it's a pen." 

"You can write with it-" 

"I know what a pen is used for." Dawn chided with a grin. 

He clenched his jaw at her interruption, his annoyance rising. Her smile changed into a devious smirk, and he hated how the impish expression suited her. "If you let me finish," he said gruffly, "You can use the pen to write important stuff, like letters and whatnot-" 

"I already have loads of pens at home." 

He slammed the object on the counter, angry at his miserable failure. "Okay, okay, fine," he huffed, "You sell the goddamn pen if you're so goddamn good with your words." 

She laughed at him, amused by his reaction. "Okay, sorry," she giggled as she pried the object from his fingers. "My turn." 

MacCready sat up straight on his stool, swilling a large gulp of his drink as he watched her place the object back in her bag. He furrowed his brows, curious as to why she put the pen away, then swallowed his drink audibly when she leaned up to him. 

"I have a question," she smiled, "When was the last time you've written to your family?" 

This was too personal for his taste; the memory of Duncan and Lucy suddenly flashed into his mind. He couldn't even remember the last time he sent Duncan a letter, the very revelation of it all made the pit in his stomach all the more unbearable. The memory of his family sullied his mood, and an old hurt pulled at his chest when he remembered how much he missed his son. 

_No_ _._ He quickly downed the rest of his drink, placing his empty glass noisily on the counter. The bourbon forcibly burned away the ache in his chest. 

"Too long," he finally responded, wanting to kick himself, "Far too long." 

Shut up, RJ! 

Dawn hummed at his response, her eyes observing the inebriated mercenary as he toyed with his empty glass. "I have a pen in my bag if you want to write a letter now," she whispered. "You can buy it off me for fifteen caps. That way you can write letters whenever you want." 

He snorted a crude laugh as an effort to disguise his guilt. "You got me, boss." He gave her a hard pat on the back, causing her to giggle at her achievement. "You got me..." 

"See?" She exclaimed, obviously proud of herself, "Sell the idea, not the object." 

MacCready didn't share her mirth, but he decided against ordering another round to dull his guilt. He stared intently into his empty glass, counting all of the chips and scratches that marred the surface. Dawn noticed his change in demeanor, but decided to mirror his action with the beer in her own hands. 

"I miss my family too," she said, that faraway look returning to her face. "My husband, he..." She began to peel the yellowed label from the bottle. "He's dead." 

The old hurt began to overpower the burn in his chest, her words triggering the pain that he tried to bury for years. "I'm sorry," he said simply, at loss for words. Even after all his travels, he still never learned quite what one should say, but he knew that nothing he could say would make it any better. 

"Thanks," she whispered, her gaze averted to the obelisk behind them. "He proposed to me at the top of that tower. It's...strange being back here." 

He followed her gaze and looked at the dilapidated building, the stone staircase visible from a particularly large hole in the walls. "Didn't know you've been here before," he muttered, "Always thought you vault dwellers stayed underground, only going out if you needed to. You sayin' he didn't get down on one knee and cause a whole scene in the fusion reactor room?" He didn't notice the shine growing in Dawn's eyes. 

Dawn hiccupped a hollow laugh, and blinked away the tears in her eyes, a sleeved hand hastily rubbed away any remaining moisture. "No, he…" she sniffed, "I, uh... I'm actually from before the war." 

He blinked, then his eyes narrowed at her. 

_Bullshit_ , he wanted to tell her, but he bit back his tongue when her statement made something click in the back of his mind. Her mannerisms, her mother's apartment, her complete childlike naivety to the dangers of the wasteland...it all made sense to him. Yes, vault dwellers tend to be on the stupid side when it comes to survival, but Dawn...she's completely oblivious. 

"Vault-Tec," she continued, "They put us on ice when the bombs fell, and my family and I were frozen for two hundred years. I've..." 

She stopped, like all of the air had slowly left her as she relived her time in the vault. Her eyes focused on the beer bottle so intently, MacCready thought it might spontaneously shatter under her gaze. It didn't, but her hands occupied themselves by peeling all remnants of the yellowed label. 

MacCready was having his own little revelation next to her, several situational equations mixing into a narrative in his mind, but only appearing as a blur to his inebriated eyes. 

Dawn shakily brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and MacCready couldn't quite believe how he was employed by not only the General of the Minutemen but a woman who is literally out of time. He knew many ghouls that lived before the war - Daisy came prominently to mind - but they had two hundred years to adapt to the aftermath of the Great War. 

Dawn's world was turned upside down in a matter of days. 

She closed her eyes, willing her tears to disappear, inhaling deeply like air was the only substance she needed to ground her. "My husband-" Another pause, the crack in her voice cutting through her words. "M-my husband was killed ten years ago by the Institute." 

There. That old ache again. A part of him wanted to stop her from divulging more, in fear of rousing similar feelings within him, but another part of him refrained from discontinuing. His mind immediately flitted to Lucy, his beautiful wife, and he tried his hardest to remember her soft spoken voice, her silky brown hair, her hazel eyes...but right now, he could only hear her screams. 

He sat up, an arduous exhale through his nose followed as he brought himself to look at her. "Boss, you don't have to tell me any of-" 

"You deserve to know!" She bit her lip when she realized the terseness in her reply. She noticed the remnants of the beer label scattered on the counter, then hastily brushed them onto the floor. "Sorry," she whispered. "Anyway, my husband. He...he died trying to protect Shaun, our son. He was shot by the Institute when they kidnapped my baby." 

"Dawn..." Her name slipped from his lips before he could stop himself, but he chose not to correct it. 

She waved a hand at him, batting away his sympathy like it was a fly, and then carried on, "One of the kidnappers, Kellogg, he said I was the back-up of some kind." Her face soured at his name - like the very mention of it would resurrect the man that made her suffer – but she calmed down when she remembered where she was. MacCready also noted the venom with which she'd said "backup," as if it was the worst thing she'd ever been called. Dawn finished "They froze me again, but only for ten years. I only got out maybe six months ago." 

He watched her as she shifted in her seat, not quite sure on how to react to her confession. It wasn't the first time he had heard of the Institute and their wrongdoings, but never before had he heard an account of this kind. In a way, he admired the determination she displayed when it came to her son, but at the same time it reminded him of his failure to protect his. 

"Thanks for telling me," was all he could muster. It felt horribly stilted, but it was the best he could do. It was that, or something worse. 

She hummed, now exhausted from telling him her burden. "It's okay," she sighed. "I just want you to know the importance of why I'm doing all of this. Once I find my son, at least I know the Minutemen can protect us from any more harm." 

Dawn faced him, brown eyes lifting from the sincere smile she gave him, and MacCready felt bitter for having someone like her to trust him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze, but the action burned him instead. 

"Thank you for listening." 

A heavy silence fell upon the both of them, each of them reflecting on their own personal tragedies. He thought over her words, now understanding Dawn a little more and explaining his unasked questions. 

Dawn; a genuine woman, a mother and a widow, and here he is, a father and a widower, on his own quest to save his son. 

The complicity he felt before was nothing in comparison to the consuming remorse he felt now. 

_And I have to betray her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Snark is an absolute life saver with this chapter. Huge thanks once again for his amazing Beta help! Next chapter will be around a week late as I've got a lot of things going on at the moment. I hate therapy... 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, once again I would like to say a HUGE thank you for sticking with the story so far! It's been fun to write and I'm glad that some of you told me you like it. You have no idea how much your comments mean to me, so thank you for your kind words! It really does lift my spirits! 
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I guess I'll see you in two weeks! 
> 
>  
> 
> (PS: GO TEAM INSTINCT WOOO!)


	6. Chapter 6

"MacCready..." 

He stirred in his bed, his eyes peeled open as he woke from his sleep. Dawn's brown eyes peered through the darkness as she shook him awake, and for a second he momentarily forgot himself. He pushed away her hands from his shoulders as he sat up, his fists rubbing against his eyes as he yawned. 

Dawn stood back, her Pip-Boy beeping dully in the background, her hands occupied with pulling her assault mask from her bag. "Hurry up," she urged as she put the mask on. "We've got to go. Now." 

The subdued bleeps from her wrist cut through the ambience of the night, the very sound of it assaulting his sleep deprived mind. He looked up, Dawn stood expectantly in his room – arms crossed and ready to leave – her fingers drumming against her crossed arms as she waited impatiently for her hired gun. 

MacCready huffed, knowing that she wouldn't leave his hotel room any time soon, so he gathered all of his belongings in preparation for whatever mission she's so focused with at this ridiculous hour. A stuporous wave in her direction, a strained yawn, then a scratch behind his neck was his wordless announcement that he was ready. 

"Okay..." He was tired, and all he wanted was a decent night's sleep. "Just...turn that thing off, will ya?" 

She shook her head, "We need it," and MacCready wished that he kept his stupid mouth shut as she proceeded to turn up the volume, the sound aggravating him as he lagged behind her. She was studying her Pip-Boy as she moved, only glancing upwards to check her surroundings. They reached the gates of Bunker Hill when she stopped in her tracks, her mask illuminated green in the darkness as she was engrossed with her gadget, then pointed down the road, announcing "There" as she began to walk. 

Her hurried footsteps echoed down the dilapidated streets, MacCready in tow, as they made their way over to the C.I.T. ruins. The large courtyard came into view, rubble littered what used to be the grass verge, where Dawn jogged over to the middle of the open to study her Pip-Boy further. 

"What is it, boss?" He was looking over her shoulder to get a better view of the screen, but she was turning dials and calibrating her Pip-Boy too quickly for him to comprehend. 

"There's a courser nearby," she breathed in anticipation, sliding up her mask so it rested on top of her head. "We're getting close." 

"A courser?" MacCready visibly blanched as he followed Dawn over a pile of debris. Immediately he tensed, straining his eyes in the darkness as he warily checked out his surroundings. "You know where it is, Boss?" 

She made a noncommittal hum as she raised her wrist, the Pip-Boy illuminating her path as she made her way to some rusted scaffolding on one of the walls. Dawn made no hesitation as she climbed up the metal pipes, her hold and footing sure as she ascended higher up the building. MacCready took a moment to admire how her demeanor changes when she is focused, observing the way her brow furrows and eyes harden as he stole a glimpse of her in the low light.  

A small slip of her foot made his heart stop, but she held on to the edge of a large hole blasted into the wall, and MacCready allowed himself to breath again when she hoisted herself into the building, a flustered expression on Dawn's face. She turned around to face him, giving him a steady thumbs up to signify that she was okay, then pulled her mask back down to cover her sheepish look. 

Her wrist rose again, the higher ground granted her better signal as she scanned her surroundings, the Pip-Boy beeping softly in the night. She titters, facing south as she points behind MacCready. 

"The courser is just across the river," she calls out, nerves choking her voice into a slight tremble. He followed Dawn's line of sight and peered over the river and into the ruins of Boston. Some Raiders could be seen gathered around a barrel fire, guarding their perimeter as they lapped warmth from the flames. MacCready looked back at Dawn as she hoisted her bag strap further up her shoulder before she leaned over the hole in the wall to begin her descent. 

A growl echoed from within the building, causing Dawn to snap her head to the source of the sound behind her. She unholstered her pistol and fired, but her firing arm was caught in the jaws of a mutant hound. 

"Boss!" MacCready sprang into action, scrambling up the scaffolding as fast as he could to reach her. More growls sounded above him, followed by Dawn's muffled struggles as she was dragged further into the C.I.T building. He clambered into the hole, finding himself inside a narrow hallway strewn with rubble and blood spatter. Hoarse voices were muttered down the hall, preventing him from calling out Dawn's name in fear of drawing attention to himself. He crouched low, straining his eyes in the darkness as he crept urgently down the hall. 

The stench of blood and rotting meat hummed in the air, and MacCready fought the urge to vomit from the fetid smell, but he pressed on. More voices – harsh and deep – and MacCready grimaced in recognition. 

Super mutants. 

"Fresh meat!" One of them exclaimed in glee. MacCready rounded the corner to see Dawn writhe beneath the meaty hands of a hulking mutant, his bulky size dwarfing the struggling woman beneath him. Another was at her feet, securing metal chains to her ankles before he hoisted her up and hung her to a hook in the ceiling. A hound made an attempt to snap at her, but was quickly swatted away by Dawn's flailing hands. 

"Fuck off!" She screamed, the mask dampening her voice. The hound did not take kindly to being hit by her, and lunged at her head and tore off the mask between drooling jaws. She spluttered from the altercation and watched in horror as the hound wildly thrashed her mask from side to side. 

"Lady!" A super mutant exclaimed, unsheathing a knife from his holster. The other giant rubbed his hands with glee, a hungry look glowing from his beady eyes. "Tastes good raw! Good, fatty meat!" 

The tallest brute jabbed her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her and making her swing as she struggled to catch her breath. The other mutant laughed, but he stopped her from swinging with his meaty hands and raised his knife in preparation of gutting her. 

The mercenary quickly brought up his rifle, steering his sights at the chains at Dawn's feet as he aimed his careful shot. A crack rung down the halls, the ricochet sparking on impact to the metal restraints and momentarily lighting the surprised faces of the two super mutants. They stopped in their tracks, blinking stupidly as Dawn crashed head first to the floor, then they turned angrily at MacCready. 

_God, they're ugly._  

Quick hands placed another round into the chamber. Butt back on his shoulder, sights now focused on the hound. A clean shot through it's fat head ceased it from standing, and it slumped to the floor before it could call maul an unconscious Dawn in its jaws. 

The two giants stormed towards him, knives and bat raised above their heads to clobber the sniper. MacCready ran full pelt towards them, his advance jarring one of the giants, and he quickly ducked between the legs of the faltering super mutants. He stole a rusty pistol from the mutants holster as he scrambled behind the. The shorter brute stumbled to a stop, surprised by the ballsy move, but he dropped to the floor when MacCready shot him through the head with the pistol. 

"Brother! No!" The last super mutant roared in anger as he stared at the corpse at his feet. He glared at MacCready, fleks of spittle sprayed from his green mouth as the giant seethed with rage. "Human! I'll wear your guts around my neck!" 

MacCready smirked, amused at the hulking mutant. "I'll make this quick," he announced as he emptied the pistol into the giant's thick skin. The mutant howled in pain, rivulets of blood raining down as he collapsed next to his brother. The mutant writhed in agony as he cradled a wound in his neck. MacCready clenched his jaw, mostly annoyed at himself for underestimating how thick a super mutant's skull can be. "Just save me the trouble and die already!" 

He threw the empty pistol at the giant in spite and reached for Dawn's pipe pistol from the floor, aiming at the mutant once more and shooting it twice in the head. The body twitched and went limp, blood surrounding their corpses. 

_Christ, I hate those basta_ _rds._  

The pipe pistol was sheathed in MacCready's own holster, and he slung his rifle to his back as he quickly checked over Dawn. Her breathing was shallow, a visible bruise forming on her temple from where she hit the floor. A few muttered curses escaped him as he hoisted Dawn over his shoulder, making his way back down the hallway from where they came from. 

"I heard noises!" 

More voices joined the fray, and the mercenary bit his lip as he hauled his boss towards the ruined scaffolding. "There!" A shout was heard behind him. "Puny human, stop running!" 

Something clicked behind him, and then MacCready saw the round shape of a frag grenade rolling by his feet. He kicked it away and dropped to the floor, bracing his body against Dawn to protect her from the blast. A wave of heat surged over him, pressure from the explosion hurting his head. His ears rang, his vision blurred, but he had to keep moving. 

A heavy creak rumbled beneath him. His stomach lurched as the floor caved in, wood and debris raining around him as they fell to the floor below. Clouds of dust invaded his lungs and stung his eyes, only adding to his disorientation as he tried to look for another way out. 

"Brick! You idiot! They got away!" A fat head peeked down the hole above him, sausages for fingers pointing at the coughing MacCready below. "There! Get them!" 

Panic began to take over the mercenary as he grabbed Dawn by the shoulders and he dragged her as far as he could. His heart stopped when his back hit a wall of rubble, and he looked around in horror as he realized that they were trapped. 

"Shit!" Filtering be damned, he is not going to die here. The floor shook as a mutant dropped down the hole, and began to advance down the hall to reach them. MacCready shot at the mutant, stopping the brute when a bullet pierced his heart. More were dropping down the ceiling behind their fallen brother, and began firing at MacCready.  

He stood up to grab a metal desk table from the rubble behind him and threw it down between him and the gang of brutes, hunching up against it for cover. He heard one of them laugh at his attempt to protect himself, and took that momentary lull to rise out of cover and shoot the laughing mutant between the eyes. 

A chorus of angry yells roared over a sudden increase of gunfire, and MacCready ducked back down and hoped that none of the bullets wouldn't reach him.  

He hoped in vain when a stray bullet grazed his forearm as he reloaded Dawn's pistol. He hissed through his teeth as he quickly pressed a palm to his wound. 

"Hot potato!" 

Another frag grenade landed as his feet. He had seconds. 

His bloodied hands grabbed the grenade. It slipped out of his grip, and he batted at it in the air with the pistol out of pure reflex. It flew in the air above him, and MacCready swung at it like he was playing a dangerous game of tennis. "Four!" He called out as the grenade was volleyed back to the mutants, and the explosion stopped them in a haze of smoke and blood. 

_"_ Four..." He sighed as he began to think out loud, "can't remember if it's a tennis or a golf reference." The smoke cleared and revealed his pursuers as a mass of bloodied bodies on the ground. He slumped to the floor, wiping sweat from his brow as the adrenaline began to finally ebb away. 

The bodies began to move. One of them was still alive. 

Groaning, and angry, the lone brute rose up from the gore at his feet. MacCready quickly stood back up to shoot at the survivor, but his body went cold when the trigger refused to pull. The mutant observed this, and sneered at the mercenary before him. 

_Shit_ _shit_ _shit_ _shit_ _..._ His gun had jammed. _Please don't do this to me!_  

He fumbled with the pistol, trying in vain to loosen a stray casing from the chamber. But the mutant took his time. The giant reached for a mini nuke from its belt, then twisted the shell with his meaty hands. It clicked from the motion. 

The nuke started to beep in countdown. 

"Fuck!" MacCready really began to panic, aiming the pistol again but yelling in anger when the trigger still would not pull. Heart hammering, sweat and blood loosening his grip on the gun as he groped at any movable component to try and get it to work. He looked up at his aggressor, shouting "Stay away!" 

The mutant suicider said nothing, and only stalked slowly towards him with a heavy tread. The beep of the nuke sounded so much louder than the mercenary thought, and it jarred any coherent planning that crossed his mind. Red light flashed in the darkness as it counted down to their doom. 

_This is it._  

He doesn't want to see what happens next. He doesn't to see his failure. MacCready closed his eyes, and tried his hardest to remember Lucy. He pictured her face, her eyes, her hair, her skin...anything that he can hold on to at this very moment. It was his solace. It was his last vestige of peace, to see her one more time. Maybe, just maybe, if he thought of her hard enough, he will go straight to her in the afterlife. 

Just... _maybe._  

_I'm so sorry Duncan._  

"Get down, MacCready!" 

The sound of Dawn's cry tore his eyes open. A hand pushed his shoulder and forced him to the ground. Dawn stood above him, his rifle clasped in her hands as she focused down the sights. Time seemed to slow as he watched her. Debris fell around them, dust peppered her lashes, and a glint of gold brought him back to reality. Something else was held between her fingers like a token, something golden and swinging from a ring of rope. That's it, that's what it was... 

_Wedding rings._  

"Eyes on the target," she murmured. The shot was fired. 

He felt the explosion before he heard it. The heat and radiation was unbearable and the walls and ceiling shook from the tremors. A high pitched ringing sound cracked through his head before it slowly hazed back to the sounds of Dawn coughing. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling and dragging MacCready to a new hole which was blasted by the explosion. He gathered his senses and limped to their escape, stumbling out of the smoke and to cold air outside. 

Not risking another scuffle, they carried on running away from the site, the soft beep of the courser signal the only noise between their heavy breathing. 

Her Pip-Boy crackled. The beeping stopped. 

The courser was gone. 

 

* * *

 

 

"MacCready, stop..." Dawn wheezed, doubling over and leaning her hands on her knees. MacCready halted and looked back his boss. She lifted her head to  watch him. Sweat poured down her skin, her breathing ragged and raw. "I-I... I need to sit down..." 

She slumped to the floor, exhausted and shaking uncontrollably. MacCready quickly went to her side, forcing her to sit up and leaned her shoulder against him. "Whoa, easy there boss," he spoke softly as he coaxed her to stand once more. "I'm tired myself, but I ain't gonna carry you." He grinned, "I barely carried you ten yards, back there." 

She laughed and punched him lightly in the arm. "You saying that I'm heavy?" She said through deep breaths. The mercenary chuckled as he helped her back to her feet. 

"Well," he began, "those muties back there were pretty excited when they strung you up. Said you've got _good, fatty meat_." 

She scoffed, a smile struggling to form on her features, but she quickly grimaced and braced herself up on a nearby car. She wheezed again and struggled to swallow. "There's something wrong," she announced as she squeezed her eyes shut. MacCready observed her shaking hands and quickly opened the car door, it's rusted hinges screeching in protest. He gently guided her to sit inside, and joined her in the seat next to her. 

He remembered the mutant hound when it bit her and dragged her into the C.I.T. ruins. Hounds aren't the most sanitary of creatures, and any bite from a wasteland animal will spell trouble. If the animal doesn't maul you to death, the infection afterwards most certainly will. 

"Give me your arm." He instructed, but grabbed her wrist before she could reply. Slowly, he peeled back her sleeve – which was soaked in blood and sweat – then a hiss escaped from his teeth as he looked at the revealed wound. It was raw, bloody, swollen and hot to the touch. "It's infected," he confirmed as he reached into Dawn's backpack, pulling out a small bottle of vodka and pouring it over the bite. Her arm tensed under his grip, but he yanked her arm back out to clean the wound further. 

She tugged her arm back again, but MacCready rolled his eyes and pulled her arm back out with a stronger grip. "Quit it, would ya?" He scolded as he glared at Dawn like she was some petulant child. She bit down on her lip and leaned back, allowing MacCready to finish flushing the wound. "There," he clipped. "You got any stimpacks in that junk bag of yours?" 

She shook her head, eyes still closed as sweat beaded across her brow. 

MacCready chewed the inside of his cheek, annoyance rising up as he watched her breathing quicken. "We need to find you a doctor," he said as he stepped out of the car, "C'mon, nearest surgery is at Diamond City. We need to move." 

Dawn shook her head again, and MacCready was about to scold her once more until she held up her hand then pointed in the opposite direction. "There's some medics in Cambridge police station," she swallowed thickly, "they're closer." She rolled her sleeve back over her bite with a grimace, then shifted slowly out of the car. "It's just around the block." 

She slowly trudged ahead, hoisting her bag strap up her shoulder before flicking away drops of vodka from her wrist. He sighed as he watched her struggle up the road – her posture hunched and her footsteps heavy with invisible burden – and he speculated just how weak she is. Coming from before the war, she would be amongst the healthiest within the Commonwealth.  

But she _is_ weak. She is fragile, and _she's a burden_.  

The war is over, and people now are hardier. They fight, they scavenge, and they survive. He knew first hand what it means to be a survivor; to be beaten and damaged... and he knew how to rise from the ashes and just soldier on. 

_Does she?_  

He clenched his jaw as he followed suit. 

"Lead the way, boss." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for such a long delay, but here is the next chapter!    
> Just to give you guys a little update, I'm not going to be able to post weekly chapters at this moment. My spare time is currently eaten up with therapy and CBT, and when I do have spare time I am either too anxious or too low of a mood to write.   
> Don't get me wrong, I love writing, but I'm at this really difficult time in my life where I physically can't bring myself to do the things I love. Counterproductive, I know... BUT! I am trying.   
> I'm going to aim to update this fortnightly – if I can – but I can't promise you that either. All I can do right now is try.   
> Other than that, thank you for reading! I honestly can't thank you enough for all of the support you've given me. I really hope you’ve enjoyed this instalment, but let me know if you see anything iffy with this chapter and I'll promptly correct it.   
> I'll see you next chapter! xxx 


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was fully out, breaking up the early morning mist in an orange glow. Heavy footsteps thumped ahead of MacCready, and the mercenary looked up to see fresh droplets of blood trailing behind Dawn. He watched a particular drop hang from her fingertips, dark and sticky, before it fell and pattered on the dusty concrete. 

He shook his head as he walked past the drop, annoyed by her lack of care. If a pack of stray dogs were nearby, they would sniff her out and easily follow the trails of blood. She might as well carry a billboard saying _"Easy_ _P_ _ickings"_ above her. 

"Apply pressure to your wrist," he groused, "You're bleeding everywhere." 

His nagging was ignored, _as per usual,_ and MacCready took her silence as sign to shut up. Why talk when she won't listen? He tutted at the concept. 

They rounded a corner, and a barricade of metal and wood came into view. There were bloodstains everywhere, though the bodies of whatever had bled were long gone. Behind the barricade was the police station, and fronting it was a soldier donned in a refurbished suit of power armour. 

The sentry guard stepped forward, aiming a large laser rifle at Dawn, his posture hunched and foreboding. 

"Move along, civilian!" The guards voice was distorted, but also amplified like a loudspeaker. "You're wandering into Brotherhood territory. Turn back or you'll be forcibly removed from the premises!" 

MacCready clenched his jaw furiously, anger simmering beneath his skin at the Brotherhood soldier ahead. He knew they should have gone to Diamond City, and now they've wasted precious time and energy to get here. Dawn, however, seemed unfazed by the threat and staggered to a stop. 

The sentry aimed his gun higher, moving his sights from her feet to her head. "I won't repeat myself," he yelled with finality. "Turn back. Now." 

MacCready reached Dawn in a single bound, grabbing her by the elbow and forcibly pulling her back. "Boss. We've gotta go," he hushed, his eyes fixated on the guard. "These Brotherhood goons don't mess around–" 

Dawn yanked her arm back and staggered away from the mercenary, shooting him a filthy look as she shrugged her bag off her shoulders. MacCready gawped at her audacity, shocked and unsure of her actions, and tried to give her a pleading look. He wanted to go. He wanted to _go_ and get as far away as possible from the Brotherhood. 

A bloody hand was held up in a sort of truce, and the soldier watched her intently as she rummaged through her bag with her other hand. "Stand down, soldier," she called out, unfazed. "I'm a fellow Knight." 

_Knight?_ MacCready blanched, now disturbed. _She's also one of them assholes?_  

The soldier visibly relaxed, but his rifle was still pointed in her direction. "State your regiment and C.O." He ordered. Dawn had finished hunting in her bag, and a set of dog tags were produced in her palm. She held them out for the soldier to see. 

"Z coy," she replied, "I'm directly mentored by Paladin Danse." 

A beat had passed, and the soldier lowered his weapon. He nodded his head, the movement restricted from his armour, and Dawn took his signal as permission to enter. She hastily walked past, beckoning MacCready to follow, and the soldier resumed his sentry duty by guarding the perimeter. 

There were more soldiers donned in that stupid power suit, each of them doing some odd job or another – MacCready couldn't really care less as long as they weren't pointing their guns at him – and a scribe was busy cleaning one of the stains from the floor. Dawn acknowledged each of them. Each nodded in return. 

_I've got a sense of_ _déjà vu_ _here._  

Dawn pushed through the Cambridge Police doors, she almost tripped up the stairs, then promptly started to empty her back pack on the reception desk ahead. A female scribe walked up to her, pleasant conversation were exchanged between them, but MacCready wasn't listening. He was too preoccupied with a bald man across the room, who was glaring daggers at the mercenary. 

"MacCready," Dawn called nonchalantly over her shoulder. He tore his eyes away from the angry Brotherhood soldier and walked up to his employer. "There's some beds in the next room over. Rest up there. I'll join you in a sec." 

He cleared his throat and gave her a curt nod, "Sure thing, Boss," then sauntered off with a huff. He heard the bald soldier scoff at Dawn's instruction, offense evident by his clipped tones. MacCready immediately rounded to face him, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing. "You got a problem, G.I. Joe?" 

The other soldier was unperturbed by MacCready's outburst, and it really ticked off the mercenary when the soldier seemed to be amused by his displeasure. The soldier smirked, uncrossed his arms, and promptly stalked outside. 

_Asshole._  

"Just ignore him," Dawn sighed. "Knight Rhys doesn't like strangers." 

MacCready doesn't reply, and does as originally instructed to go to the next room. There were numerous beds lined up against the walls. Some were empty, some were claimed with equipment and personal effects, but MacCready did not feel like resting now. Instead he chose to sit on one of the desk chairs. He unhooked his rifle from his back and proceeded to dismantle it to clean. 

It didn't take long for Dawn to follow, and the woman from earlier was behind her with a first aid kit. She claimed a bed in the far corner, where they both perched on the mattress to begin first aid. 

"Yeowch," the woman grimaced when Dawn pushed back her sleeve to reveal where she was mauled. "That is gonna leave a real interesting scar when this heals." 

Dawn made a small choked noise, obviously unhappy with the notion. "Thanks for reminding me, Haylen." 

Haylen shrugged. "I don't like to sugar-coat," she stated as she pulled out a syringe from her medical kit. A stimpack, and a large one to boot. "And whilst we're on the topic of being honest; this will hurt," she glances up to give Dawn a concerned look. "A lot." 

A hum was the only response given, but the exhale escalated into a pained hiss when Haylen administered the drug into the skin. Dawn bit her lip and winced. MacCready – distracted now by Dawn's incessant protests – glowered at her for being _too damn noisy_. 

"Suck it up, why don't you?" He said as he wiped down the muzzle with a piece of cloth. It was Dawn's turn to glare now. "Complaining won't make the pain go away any faster. Just deal with it, and let the lady patch you up." 

Haylen momentarily paused from her work, but swiftly regained composure and carried on. She leaned closer to Dawn to whisper, but MacCready's keen ears still caught the conversation. 

"Ain't he a ray of sunshine." 

"Tell me about it." 

_That's it_. He's now thoroughly annoyed. Rifle parts were slammed on the office desk nearby. He sprung up from his chair – a loud scraping noise resounded from the action – and he stalked off to the next room. The mercenary jammed a cigarette between his lips, his other hand rifling through his pocket for his flip lighter, and fumbled with his lighter as he tried to spark it up. 

One flick. Two flicks. He rolls his eyes, rolls his thumb on the gear one more time...and the flint breaks.  

"Fff–" he stops himself before he curses, but his failed outburst caused him to spit out the cigarette onto the floor. He looks at it, bent and looking sorry, and crushes it into the floor angrily with his boot. A wasted cigarette, but he couldn't think of anything else to vent his frustration. 

"Rough day?" Dawns voice calls from behind him, and MacCready turns around slowly to face her. He looked defeated, and Dawn picked up on his change of demeanour. She hesitates before speaking again. "I... Can I have a word? With you?" 

He sighs. "Shoot." 

Dawn motions back to the office room and gestures him to sit on one of the beds. Haylen was nowhere in sight, no longer needed now that Dawn's wounds have been tended to. She sits next to him, a nervousness taking over her which started to make her hands shake, and slowly she brought her gaze up to meet him. MacCready stares back expectantly, making sure to reveal none of his emotions to her, but he couldn't help but feel intrigued. 

"I want to talk about earlier," she began, voice low. "I owe you an apology." 

_About fucking time,_ he wanted to say his thoughts out loud. To make clear his displeasure towards her, but something in her expression stopped him from doing so. He swallows his words instead, keeping silent as he nodded for her to continue. 

"I shouldn't have gone ahead of you... you know, back at the C.I.T. ruins. It was stupid, and I should have waited for you to follow." She slumped forward and put her face in her hands. "It probably didn't help when I was shouting in the middle of the night." Another heavy sigh, and she released her head from her hands, staring blankly ahead. "What I mean to say is... I'm sorry for putting you in danger. It was unneeded. Avoidable, even." 

MacCready stayed silent, digesting her words as she continued to stare at nothing. She looked even more pathetic than usual. There was no fire, no fight...but he felt he didn't like seeing this side of Dawn when he knew that another side of her existed. Her determined side. Her focused side. 

If only he had made more of an effort to bring that fire out of her. 

He felt awkward, but it was the only response he could think of. A tentative hand reached out to her, and the only logical place he could think of touching was her shoulder. A few pats maybe, but MacCready realised that the gesture could be seen as patronizing, so he rested his hand there instead. 

He knew it was the right thing to do when she placed her uninjured hand on top of his. A smile ghosted her lips, and her spirit lifted from MacCready's wordless acceptance. 

But his eyes widened when he realized what he was doing. No, he can't be friends with her, so he quickly slid his hand from her and tucked it to his side. He felt embarrassed. Stupid. He shifted slightly on the bed, as if the motion would rid him of his discomfort. A quick glance in her direction confirmed that her smile was still there, and he was relieved that she never noticed his withdrawal. 

The silence had stretched on longer than what MacCready was comfortable with. He quickly cleared his throat before he decided to rekindle the conversation. "Can I share a few pointers?" He suggested. Right now, he wanted to make this conversation productive. She looks up and watches him with curiosity. 

"Go ahead," she prompted, focus replacing the dullness in her expression. 

A smirk crossed his lips before he could stop himself. "Your pistol jammed when I borrowed it." Dawn's gaze flitted towards the pipe pistol in her holster. "When was the last time you've cleaned your gun?" 

Her brows raised at this, a small blush began to grow on her cheeks as she considered his question. "Uh...I don't?" 

"Don't _what?"_ He prompted. "Don't remember or don't clean?" 

Dawn's response was a sheepish laugh, and she shrugged at the concept of gun maintenance. "I honestly don't know how to clean my guns." 

She kept quiet after that, as if she knew MacCready would give her another lecture about her mistakes. Telling her off would be the easier thing to do, but the mercenary was reminded of his time back in Little Lamplight. The kids didn't learn through scolding. They learned through experience. 

Dawn has no experience. 

"C'mon," he sighed as he stood up. He beckoned her to follow as he crossed the room, back to the desk where his dismantled rifle lay. "I'll show you how to clean a weapon." 

It took him an hour to teach her how to dismantle, clean and maintain their weapons. Tools and cleaning equipment were scattered messily across the desk, but their guns were now pieced together and free from grime and build up. Dawn wanted to know more, so the hired gun was now pointing out the components of her pistol, his finger hovering each section as he explained their purpose. 

"This," he indicated at the barrel, "You need to be extra careful with. Each round you fire will slowly accumulate carbon inside the barrel. If you let it build up too much, all that gunk will cause problems. The gun will misfire, the bullet will stay in the barrel, the cartridge won't eject..." 

MacCready trailed off when he looked back at his employer. She was still focused on the pistol in his hand, but something about her had caught him off guard. The dark circles under her eyes, the paleness of her lips, the beads of sweat on her clammy skin. Something was wrong, and not a moment too soon after he noticed Dawn began to sway on her feet. 

"Boss?" 

The pistol clattered amongst the tools as MacCready frantically reached out for her, strong hands gripping her arms to steady and guide her fall. The trembling worsened underneath his fingertips, her body limp and heavy as he directed her to the desk chair behind her. "Boss?" He repeated as he shook her by the shoulders. Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, the colour draining further from her face just when MacCready thought she couldn't get any paler. 

_Shit,_ _what was her name again?_  

"H-Hayleigh?" No, that wasn't it. "Haylen!" 

Haylen immediately entered the room, the confusion in her eyes now replaced with resolve as she took over from MacCready. At once she got to work with Dawn, a grim expression evident from his boss's condition. Many questions came to his mind but he thought that he should ask them later. His presence would hinder the two, and he took it upon himself to go outside of the building. Maybe one of the patrolling soldiers outside had a lighter he could borrow. 

* * *

 

The roar of a Vertibird resounded above, the wind whipping up dust and ash from the tip of MacCready's lit cigarette. For a brief moment he thought it was a gunner vehicle, but the cleanliness of the chassis and the Brotherhood markings reminded him that his cover was under no danger. The ship landed on the roof, the engine still whirring hot for a few minutes more before it departed back in the direction from where it came. 

The afternoon sun was at its highest in the sky, and the heat was beginning to bother the mercenary. He took one last puff from his cigarette before stubbing it out on the ground beneath his boot. He re-entered the police station, taking solace in the cooler temperature inside, but he immediately regretted it when he came across the bald Brotherhood soldier from before. 

"Still here, I see?" The soldier said as he crossed his arms. "Would'a thought you would be long gone by now." 

MacCready smirked as he squared his shoulders, moseying into the room with as much cockiness as he could muster. It worked as the soldier's smirk evolved into a grimace. "Still here," he mocked, "Would'a thought you would miss me too much." 

"Knight Rhys." 

Another soldier entered, donned in power armour. He was taller, formidable, and his voice held such an air of authority that MacCready knew he shouldn't mess with this one. The bald soldier, Knight Rhys, immediately straightened up to acknowledge the officer in the room. 

"Paladin Danse," he said with a salute. MacCready looked at Rhys and tutted, but the soldier paid him no mind. "Knight Dawn has returned. She's currently recovering in her quarters." 

The Paladin took off his helmet at this, revealing a man with thick eyebrows and a gentle face. But he had a hardened look to him, a certain ruggedness that only war and hardship could bring to a man. "Dawn Smith?" He questioned, his voice low and serious. Rhys nodded, but then his gaze turned to MacCready. Paladin Danse looked at the mercenary before him, studying the young man with uncertainty. "And who are you, civilian?" 

"MacCready," he announced as he held out a hand to shake, but the Paladin made no motion to return the gesture. He retreated, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. "I, uh, I accompany Dawn." 

Danse's stare was intimidating, and MacCready second guessed himself in case he had said the wrong thing. The officer quickly dismissed Rhys, a quick "Sir" uttered from the soldier to mark his departure, before turning to MacCready and tilting his head to follow. 

Dawn was lying down on a bed, eyes closed and sweat still pouring out of her. Haylen gave Paladin Danse a respectful salute before she carried on attaching an IV to Dawn's outstretched arm. 

"She's been dangerously exposed to the F.E.V. in a Super Mutant attack, sir," Haylen gave as she updated Danse on the situation. "A few days of rest and some minor treatment would flush the infection from her system." 

Dawn cracked open a eye to look at her commanding officer, and she gave him such an embarrassed look that would put all of her previous sheepishness to shame. "Hi," she gulped. 

"Knight Dawn," the Paladin began, the potency returning to his voice. "I was beginning to think you have gone AWOL on us. Do you have anything to report?" 

She swallowed thickly, gesturing vaguely into the air as she thought of something to say. Her mouth opened, but her words were cut short. Dawn made a defeated sigh and looked at MacCready. "Hey, Mac," she pointed at her backpack on the floor. "Can you go into my bag, please? There's a black pouch inside one of the inner pockets." 

MacCready did as he was told and pulled out the pouch in question. It was light, and at first he thought there was some caps inside, but it felt too bulky. He threw it wordlessly to Dawn. 

Dawn sat up on the bed, emptying the contents onto her lap. The soft clink of Brotherhood dog tags laid there, some covered in dirt, others covered in blood, and she delicately picked them up and held them out to Danse. His stare, although foreboding, gave no other emotion as he carefully took hold of them. 

"They're all dead," Dawn whispered. "I have one lead left. Paladin Brandis. The trail ends at Recon Bunker Theta." 

Paladin Danse remained silent as he read the names on each tag. "I'll have these returned to their families," he sighed. "As soon as you're fit for duty, we move out to find Paladin Brandis." 

The solemn expression on Dawn's face quickly turned to panic, and she made a move to jump out of bed, but she was held back by the IV in her arm. She swore under her breath at the restriction, and looked helplessly at MacCready. "Paladin Danse, please," the dread in her voice did not go unnoticed. "I have someone with me already-" 

"This is Brotherhood business," Danse interupted. "You can leave your Minuteman here, until you return." 

"Hey," MacCready hated being talked about, especially if he was in the same room. "I'm not part of the Minutemen." 

Wrong answer, and both Dawn and Danse gave him an angry stare. 

Paladin Danse scowled at Dawn, and she shrank from his gaze. "You hired a mercenary?" His voice boomed with anger and disappointment. "They have no honour – no loyalty! As soon as the caps run dry, he will not protect you-" 

"He's not a mercenary!" There. That fire. But it was quickly quenched through her own self control. "He's...not a mercenary, sir. He's my partner." 

Danse didn't believe her, that much was obvious through his incredulous stare. "Partner?" He groused. Dawn nodded. 

"Yeah," she cleared her throat and flitted a quick gaze at MacCready's direction. MacCready quickly closed his mouth, shocked that she has defended him when all he did was give her a hard time. "He saved my life, many times. He's also my guide, so he's been showing me ropes around survival in the wasteland." 

Danse's only response was a small hum, his brown lips pressed into a hard line. "Very well," he breathed. "I trust your judgement, Knight. But my order still stands. Your partner stays here while we find Paladin Brandis." 

With that, Paladin Danse left, the heavy thuds from his suit fading as he went elsewhere. Haylen decided that now would be a good time to leave, and she followed the officer out, leaving MacCready and Dawn alone once more. 

He looked at his so called _partner,_ the notion feeling wrong and forced, and saw that Dawn now looked defeated. Dawn was back to her solemn self, and MacCready shook his head with witnessing how easily she could be pushed around. He stood up, crossed the room, and chose a bed furthest away from her. 

"I'm going to sleep." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've released this chapter early as I've got a few things happening this week, so I'm not entirely sure when I'll be back to writing.   
> Also, I'm currently looking for a Beta reader, so if any of you guys are interested I'd be more than grateful if you are able to help!   
> Once again, thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts, they really do cheer me up and motivate me like crazy! 


	8. Chapter 8

Sleep was no longer something that came easy to MacCready. Holed up in the same room as other Brotherhood goons, it was most certainly not the sort of situation he would like to be in. Regardless, right now he wanted a cigarette; any excuse for an escape no matter how temporary the solution. 

He quietly made his way to the rooftop, gripped in his hands were his cigarettes and a lighter he picked up by one of the beds. If they didn't want it stolen then the owner shouldn't have left it lying around. 

He crept around in the dark, not wanting to disturb anyone who may be sleeping, and opened the door cautiously to the buildings' helipad. He stepped outside, the cool night air refreshing him, and then promptly lit up his smokes. 

A slow exhale through his nostrils, and MacCready allowed himself to relax as he leaned up on the wall behind him. A small sound alerted him however, and he quickly scouted his surroundings for the source of the sound. Something caught his peripheral vision, a small green glow, and upon closer inspection he could see Dawn sitting on the edge of the building, her face engrossed with the Pip-Boy on her wrist. 

She clicked wildly on the device, her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she focused on the screen, but another beep resounded and she made an exasperated sigh in defeat. 

"Stupid little..." She mumbled as she busied herself with it once more, her clicking a lot more aggressive than before. MacCready slowly walked up to her and peered over her shoulder, watching the screen on her Pip-Boy as she carried on what she was doing. 

_Zeta Invaders?_  

"I guess you couldn't sleep either," she breathed as she twisted her head to face him, now giving up on the game. _Game Over_ flashed in green, followed by Dawn's score. She patted the space next to her, and MacCready obliged as he sat down and dangled his legs over the edge. He heard her click away as she restarted the game, and MacCready puffed away on his cigarette in silence. Another curse escaped from her lips, and he knew that it was game over once again when her shoulders slumped a little lower. 

Suddenly the Pip-Boy was removed from her wrist, and she promptly handed it over to the mercenary. 

"Here," she said encouragingly. "It's been driving me nuts." 

MacCready took it carefully, unsure of which button or dial to activate. "Thanks," he said through puffs. He turned it around in his hands. "Never worked one of these before, how do I make it start?" 

"I'll show you," she said as she reached over him. Her hands worked its way around his wrist, her skin soft and warm against his, and she quickly attached the device to his arm. The screen illuminated instantly, and the start screen for Zeta Invaders flashed before him. Dawn scooted herself closer, leaning up against him as she showed him which button did what. 

She scooted back, giving MacCready space as he had his turn with the game. It was addictive, and it was fun, and not before long he managed to beat Dawn's high score. 

"Easy," he said as he removed the device and gave it back to her. She took it back with a smirk, one brow raised higher than the other when she clicked it back to her wrist. "Got any other games on that thing?" 

"I only have the two," she shrugged. "This and Red Menace." 

He flicked his cigarette off the building, watching the orange glow fall to the ground before snuffing out on impact. "I overheard one of the soldiers yesterday," he took off his hat to run a hand through his hair, fluffing it back before fixing his hat back on. "They said you'll be leaving tomorrow with Paladin tin can." 

She stifled a laugh with her sleeve, her eyes glinting with mirth. "Don't let anyone else hear that," she said through giggles, but a faraway look returned to her once the laughter died down. "How did I get myself into this mess, MacCready?" 

_Great,_ she's getting sentimental again, and he's sick and tired of seeing her mope. "Shi-" he grumbles, "Stuff happens, boss. It's a part of life. There's a saying, _hardship only cometh to hardy men,_ or something like that..." 

Dawn looked at him with wide eyes. "Did...did you just quote Grognak the Barbarian?" 

_Shit,_ he's been caught out, and now he felt utterly humiliated. "W-well, I...uh..." he stalled as he wracked his brains for any excuse. Now she'll never take him seriously, and his reputation has been tarnished to fucking pieces– 

But she gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder, endeared by the prospect. "Don't sweat it," she said. "Nate was this huge comic book nerd. He used to bring home a new issue every week and leave it lying around on the kitchen table. It used to drive me crazy, this huge pile of comic books in the kitchen, and whenever I tidy it up he gets annoyed with me because he can't find the latest issue he was reading." She brought up her knees and hugged them close to her chest. "The last issue he brought home was Grognak the Barbarian: Jungle of the Bat-babies." She sighed, eyes now brimming with tears. "He never got to read it." 

With this she stood up, slowly ambling back to her quarters to rest, leaving MacCready alone on the rooftop. 

By the time MacCready woke up, Dawn had left with Paladin Danse. A small note was left for him on the desk where his rifle lay, a bag of caps and a comic book situated next to the note. He read it twice, a little disturbed by its contents. 

_"_ _MacCready_ _,_  

_I'm leaving on my mission with Paladin_ _Danse_ _. I should be back in two days. Tops. But if I don't return in a week, then presume me for dead. The comic book is for you. It should keep you busy while I'm away. If I don't come back then the bag of caps is yours. Consider it my final payment._  

_Dawn."_  

He picked up the comic book, careful that he didn't crease the tattered pages even more, and noticed that the book was indeed Grognak the Barbarian. It was the issue her husband never got to read. 

"Make yourself useful, Merc." 

Knight Rhys was behind him, a T-60 helmet tucked under his arm, a wire brush in the other. He held out the wire brush expectantly. "Paladin Danse left instructions for you. Said you're on cleaning duty." 

_This motherfucking asshole._  

He snatched the wire brush forcibly out of the soldier's hands before storming outside. 

* * *

 

Five days. 

Five. Fucking. Days and Dawn is still not back. He's cleaned every single Brotherhood power suit – twice – and now he's read that comic book so many times he's sure he could quote every page on demand. 

He wouldn't admit this out loud, but he was worried too. 

Only two more days to go, and he would have to presume her for dead. Which complicated things further with the Gunners. The debt, the intel... Duncan's safety. It's too much for MacCready to handle right now, and he hated the idea that he had to rely on Dawn so much. His pride was wounded with _cleaning_ Brotherhood toys, but relying on a daydreaming vault dweller had outright obliterated whatever dignity he had left. 

"Hey, Merc." 

Scratch that. Having the bald headed wonder call him _Merc_ was definitely worse. 

"I have a name, turd blossom." He waved his hands with emphasis. "MacCready! Say it with me; Mac – Ree – Dee!" 

"Shut up, Merc!" 

"Would you like me to spell it out with a crayon?" 

"If you don't shut your fucking mouth I'll cauterize it shut myself!" Knight Rhys was getting redder and redder, and MacCready loved it when he managed to rile up the soldier. But something serious flitted in Rhys's eyes and the mercenary knew that he shouldn't push him further. "Paladin Danse has arrived with Knight Dawn. They're both on the rooftop." He turned swiftly on his heel, but quickly shouted over his shoulder. "And I call you Merc because you _are_ a merc. Knight Dawn only hired a nobody like you because it would be less guilt for her if you die." 

MacCready bristled and made a move to retaliate, but he swallowed his bitter words and kicked a nearby bed post in frustration. For some reason, that hurt. The very idea that he was expendable had stung him to such a degree, he considered there and then that he could pack everything he owned and leave Dawn entirely. 

He would have to pay back his debt some other way, and he had all of the intel he needed to appease Winlock and Barnes for the meantime. He didn't want to be some fodder to Dawn, with or without the caps. Duncan came first, and he _needs_ his father. 

"What's wrong, MacCready?" 

He whipped around to face Dawn, a soft expression on her worn face. But he was having none of it. She may be nice, but she's _stupid._ She's stupid and careless and– 

"MacCready, talk to me," she reached out to him but he steps back. Dawn retreats her hand, an unreadable emotion pooling in her eyes as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Please." 

She's pleading now, and she always shrinks whenever he gets angry. He thought back to the last time he had an outburst, and he closed his eyes as he took a sharp inhale through his nose. He needed to calm down. Dawn is scared and he _needs to calm down._  

"Sorry," he clenched his fist, willing his anger to subside. "I was just..." Just _what?_ He doesn't know. The frustration builds up again, and he was trying his utmost best to simmer down. "You were gone for a long time." He griped. It was easier to lie to her anyway. "Was beginning to think you were dead." 

Dawn seemed taken aback by this confession, but he didn't care. It's a lie. Not true. A hardened mercenary like him never worries over trivial things. "Wow, I..." she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit of hers whenever she gets caught off-guard. "Well, I'm here now. I'm so sorry I left you hanging for so long. Paladin Danse and I got...side-tracked." 

He eyed her suspiciously. "Side-tracked?" He grunted. "The tin-can, huh? Didn't know your love for junk went that far." 

Dawn caught his gaze and made a small nervous laugh. She held up her hands in defence. "Shit, that sounded a little wrong. What I meant was," she quickly reached into her pocket and pulled out something shiny, "We also killed a courser." 

* * *

 

Another day of rest had passed, but Dawn had needed it more than MacCready did. She was wearing her Brotherhood uniform due to Paladin Danse's insistence, her road leathers have unfortunately been torn, bloodied and had bullet holes from her recent battle with a courser. MacCready had asked her if she had sustained any injuries from the fight, but she ignored his questions entirely and waved off his concerns. Paladin Danse wouldn't divulge either, citing her right to confidentiality and some other red tape policy. 

Despite his questions, he's always ignored or dismissed, and sometimes he wonders why he bothers. But the concern never goes away, not when he sees the bloodied bandages around her leg when she pushed her uniform up her calf. 

Dawn sat on the floor as she tends to her wounds, her back against her bed post, and a roll of clean bandages situated on the bed behind her. MacCready has busied himself by reading the comic book – again – but none of the words or illustrations were registering. He tilted the book slightly, keeping her in his peripheral, and he covertly observed her instead. 

She was unravelling the bandage, splotches of dried blood were spread across the cloth as she slowly peeled it away. He kept himself quiet when the bandage eventually ran out, and a spattering of shrapnel wounds were revealed on her bruised calf. A hiss escaped through her teeth when she gave it a quick wipe with some disinfectant, then hastily bound it up with a fresh bandage when done. 

"How did you get that?" He asked, the curiosity now too big for him to ignore. Dawn made a small hum when she secured her dressing in place. 

"Grenade," she said simply, tone clipped and brows furrowed. She said no more after that. 

"Any others?" He prompted, but her reply was more silence, and he rolled his eyes as he returned to reading his comic. If she wants to talk, she'll talk, and MacCready had no other choice but to remind himself of that fact. 

She stood up, bloodied bandages in hand, and looked at her hired gun. "You ready to move out?" 

He smirks at the idea. "About time." 

Their travel to Diamond City was slower than their usual pace. Dawn was visibly struggling with her wounds, her footsteps heavier than usual as she limped around the Commonwealth. MacCready was impressed when they reached the gates of the Green Jewel – not once did she complain – but at the same time his concern grew over her wellbeing. 

It's not like he _cared_ about her, of course. He just wanted to make sure she stays alive long enough for him to get paid. 

A small sound from his stomach reminded him of his growing hunger. They've been walking for three hours, at the slowest pace he's ever travelled, and the prospect of food was gnawing at him like drugs to an addict. The last time he ate was the night before, and even then it was a pitiful meal consisting of tinned pork and beans. 

Complaining aside, they have arrived. Dawn was in a sullen mood and told him to meet her at the Dugout Inn, saying that she had other errands to run, and she shoved her backpack at him as she left abruptly, disappearing into the crowd before MacCready could ask any questions. Left alone again, he chewed the inside of his cheek with growing annoyance because the only thing he could do was _obey._ He had nothing else to do, so a decent hot meal wouldn't go amiss, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat at the noodle stand in the market centre. 

For some reason, going there reminded him of the first time he heard Dawn laugh. 

_No,_ he can't think of such things. He's a professional, and Dawn is a client. 

_What_ _kinda_ _professional_ _would stab their employer in the back?_  

There was an empty Nuka Cola bottle on the grubby floor, and he kicked it haphazardly across the dirt. Whiskey, that's what he needed. The stronger, the better...anything to stop him from thinking. A cigarette was lit with the stolen Brotherhood lighter and he puffed away as he made his way to the Dugout, her bag slung loosely over his shoulder. 

A haze of smoke and alcohol fumes greeted him as he entered the inn, a slew of murmured conversation surrounding him as he walked up to the bar. Ten caps for a room, another five for a glass of whiskey, and he moseyed over to an empty seat in the far end of the bar. The bag rattled when he set it down by his feet, no doubt full of other _junk_ from Dawn's previous excursion, and he took a burning sip from his glass. 

Whiskey on an empty stomach would no doubt numb him quicker, but he preferred it that way, and soon enough he felt his cheeks warm as he finished his glass. A nod to the bartender as he lifted his empty tumbler in the air was his wordless order for a refill. 

A young waitress refilled his glass, a small smile on her face as she did so, and MacCready reached into the bag to get the caps needed. She left after payment, but something caught his eye before he could say his thanks. Inside the bag was a pen, resting on top of other scrap and haberdasheries, and two golden rings held together with a cord of string. He picked it out, reading the inscriptions inside each band. 

_N_ _a_ _t_ _h_ _a_ _n_ _S_ _m_ _i_ _t_ _h_ _& Dawn Smith. _  

"Damn..." He breathed as he put it back. He wondered if all pre-war couples had the luxury of wedding rings, even he and Lucy couldn't afford one, but he felt as if he was holding something sacred in his hand. The wooden soldier in his pocket felt heavier somehow, and he knew that he shouldn't be handling something as precious as her rings. He took out the pen instead. There was a small notebook in there too, so he tore out a few blank pages and began to write. 

Winlock and Barnes were expecting their first intel after all. 

Messy handwriting be damned, he had to write quickly. Outpost locations, people of authority, Minutemen bases of operation...he scrawled as much information as he could. 

"Is that for Duncan?" 

Panic took over when he covered the paper with his hands, crumpling the page in an attempt to hide its contents. The pen rolled off his lap and clattered to the ground, forgotten. Dawn took the seat opposite him, she was no longer wearing her Brotherhood uniform but had donned a blue vault suit instead, and she was sipping languidly on a glass of whiskey. 

_His_ glass of whiskey. 

"That's mine," he stated, voice low. Her reply was a raised eyebrow. 

"I'll get you another one," she said with a wave of her hand. Another sip, then she relaxed into her chair, but her eyes flitted to the half-written letter scrunched inside his hands. "Why are you hiding that?" 

_None of your fucking business,_ he wanted to tell her, but his reply was a terse "it's private?" 

Her brown eyes rolled as she scoffed at his attitude, shaking her head as she finished his drink. "It's not like I'm going to read it," she huffed. "Your letters to your family are your business. Not mine." 

And with that she put the empty glass on the table, subject now closed. The urge to sigh in relief was strong to the mercenary, but he fought it and stuffed the letter in his front pocket, safe from any other prying eyes. He picked up the pen from the floor and put it back in Dawn's bag. 

A tall man caught his attention; broad shoulders hidden in a bomber jacket, a bald head poking up from the collar, and large calloused hands held open in friendly greeting. "MacCready!" He hailed, a thick Russian accent lilting his words. "Is good to see you, _tovarisch_!" 

MacCready sat up, giving the man a small salute. "Vadim! Still killing people with your moonshine?" 

A hearty laugh boomed from Vadim's chest. "I only give to people who can handle it, my friend." He gave a smile as he looked upon Dawn, her back facing the inn keeper. "Ah, Lucy! Oh, how I missed your beautiful smile!" 

But Vadim's expression faltered when Dawn turned around, realisation hitting him at the mistaken identity. MacCready's heart felt like it was going to stop, and an old wound opened as he took in a shaky breath. Vadim, however, recovered and he gave Dawn a heavy pat on the shoulder. 

"Another friend, I see?" He chortled that same laugh, but MacCready couldn't share his mirth. "Welcome to the Dugout Inn." Vadim looked back at the mercenary. "Is Lucy around? I still have another bottle of sweet wine for _moe_ _solnyshka_ _._ " 

Dawn kept quiet, eyes downcast as if she _knew_ he was hurting, but he couldn't stay silent. Throat thick with unwanted emotion, MacCready shook his head. "No, Vadim," he swallowed, wishing the ache in his voice would stop. "She didn't make it." 

Vadim looked at him knowingly, and chose not to pry. Keeping his tone light-hearted he gave him another impish smile. "Ah, sorry...mouth tends to run faster than brain," he pointed at the bar behind him with his thumb. "I'll get you another drink – on the house – for old times." 

A small smile returned to MaCready's lips, the memory of Lucy laughing at the bar now fresh in his mind. "Thanks, Vadim. You were always a real stand-up kinda guy." 

"S'no problem," Vadim winked before going behind the bar, greeting other customers with hearty conversation. His booming laugh echoed around the room, filling the atmosphere with a certain drunken happiness that MacCready didn't feel like joining. 

"Who's Lucy?" Dawn's gentle voice roused him from his stupor, and he looked up to see her concerned gaze boring into him. The empty glass was back in her hands, and she toyed with it by rolling it between her palms. 

"No offense, Boss, but I don't really wanna talk about her," he sighed as he stood up. "You want another drink?" 

She shook her head. "No...you go on ahead," a smirk crossed her lips. "I promise I won't drink it, this time." 

Vadim had already poured MacCready a glass of whiskey, and he handed the drink over with a wink before returning to his previous post. MacCready made his way back to Dawn, glass in hand, and he sat down with a satisfied huff as he took solace in his drink. All previous aches were burned away with each sip he took, and he was mellow again soon after. He glanced over at Dawn, observing her as she busied herself with playing on her Pip-Boy, brows furrowed in concentration. She huffed, shook her head, and gave MacCready an exasperated look. 

"I can't beat your high score," she admitted with a small pout. He chuckled as he took another sip. 

"How old are you?" He said as he swallowed a large gulp, ignoring the fact that his question was so out of the blue. _Never ask a woman's age,_ he remembered Daisy's words, but he was feeling brave. Dawn looked no older than sixteen in his eyes, and with a child and husband, he was curious about pre-war customs. She balked, however, and he quickly regretted asking the question. 

"Let me guess," she began. "I'm too old to be playing games? I'm sorry that I'm not as old and as wise as you are..." 

He was taken aback however, and it only made him laugh more. "You got me wrong, Boss. Just curious, that's all." 

A beat of silence passed as she observed him, brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Twenty six." 

He choked on his drink. "E-excuse me, what?" 

"Twenty six," she sighed as she resumed playing on her game. "Two hundred and thirty six, if you want to be exact. Why?" 

He stumbled over his words as he tried to think of a coherent sentence. "I-I dunno, you just...you're..." He gestured towards her as he looked her up and down. "You look like a damn kid!" 

Dawn scrunched her nose at this, the disbelief evident on her face. "I look exactly like my age," she said as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "How old are you?" 

"Twenty three!" He put his glass back on the table before leaning on his knees with his elbows. Dawn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're older than me!" 

It was her turn to be at loss for words, and she turned off her Pip-Boy to lean forward. She was staring at him, her eyes drinking up every feature as she studied him. "I honestly thought you were thirty," she announced when she leaned back in her chair, and he felt relieved when she was no longer scrutinizing him. "Huh, who knew someone so young could be such a deadly killer." 

Her words made him smile, a little bit of pride swelling within his chest. "Told you I was a good shot." 

"Your parents must be so proud," she chimed as she absently fiddled with her Pip-Boy, not noticing how her offhand comment has irked the mercenary. 

"Never knew my parents." 

"Ah..." She bit her lip at her quip. "Sorry..." 

Another bout of silence, but he felt sorry for her in a way. MacCready returned to his whiskey to fill the lull in conversation, unsure of what to say next. He had to think of something soon, with experience he knew Dawn would return to whatever solemn mood if she kept quiet for too long. If she was quiet, she was thinking, and he sure as hell wouldn't let her dour mood sully his good spirit. 

"I'm completely self taught, y'know," he began as he tapped at the rifle on his back. "Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten and I never looked back." 

Her gaze focused back on him, hands stilling from the Pip-Boy. "That early?" A small smile grew. "I can see how a rifle is your weapon of choice." 

He shrugged. "Always thought it was smarter to hit my targets at long range. I mean, why take chances, right?" 

Dawn nodded in agreement, but concern soon took over. "Getting into gunfights at that age is foolish." There was something in her voice, a sort of care that softened her demeanour as she spoke. He knew that tone, he had used it on Duncan himself...the same parental tone one would always use with children. 

"It wasn't so bad," he added, not wanting to worry her. "It's not like I was alone. Lived underground in a place called Little Lamplight." 

MacCready didn't know if it was the alcohol or if it was the urge to quell her anxiety, but he kept talking. He opened up and told her about his life when he was younger, from how he was appointed Mayor to his life when he left Little Lamplight at sixteen. He chose not to mention his time with the Gunners, but he still opened up to her, and he just _kept on talking._  

And Dawn...she kept quiet – kept eye-contact – and she kept on _listening._  

"And there you have it," he finished, glass now empty in his calloused hands. "My whole life in a nutshell." 

Another pause, and he looked over to her with uncertainty. She was still watching him, but her gaze was unfocused as she was deep in thought. Eventually she sighed, a sadness glossing over her dark eyes as she brushed her hand through her hair. "Sounds like the road can be a lonely place..." She hummed. "Until you meet someone to share it with." 

His heart jumped at her comment, because she was right. He knew he was lonely, and he's travelled alone for nearly two years, since Lucy had died...but he never considered that he wasn't alone now. Sure, he travelled with others before; caravans, clients...too many for him to count. But he's always kept his distance, kept himself to himself and never invested his personal life like he had with Dawn. 

"I never thought about it that way," he sighed, more to himself than to her. "Maybe that's why I feel so comfortable telling you all of this." 

_Shit_. Don't get too close. He could hear the crumpled letter in his pocket, hear it rustle as he heaved a sigh. _Remember why you're here,_ he told himself over and over, but his resolve was waning. Maybe, if he did allow himself to get closer, then she would trust him with more information. She'd pay him more caps, he'd get more intel, and Duncan can be safe from the Gunners. 

_Lie, and earn her trust._  

"Look," he started, "I know I can be a pain in the ass..." He cleared his throat from the slur. "I mean, I know I tend to be arrogant and I come off like I want to be alone. But...nothing can be further than the truth." 

_Keep lying._  

"Being alone scares the heck outta me." _Just keep lying._ "Now that we've been travelling together for a while, I'm beginning to realize how much I missed having someone I could depend on." 

_Keep. Lying._  

"I just wanted you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to see that it stays that way." 

He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to meet her eye as he mislead her so easily. The guilt was burning him from the inside, and the promise he made to Duncan – to be a better person – it was crumbling away. _No,_ just end the conversation here and say no more, and the guilt will stop. 

"Well, that's all I had to say," he said, bitterness returning to him as he regretted opening up to her. "Hope you got something out of all that..." 

_I know I did._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, moe solnyshka means my sunshine, a little Russian term of endearment. Tovarisch means comrade, which you hear Vadim say in canon when you take MacCready to the Dugout Inn. I've had to tweak the conversation between the two, as well as the little approval talk between Mac and Dawn, just so that it could fit a little better with what they've both been through.   
> Anyway, enough rambling. I would like to say a HUGE special thank you to Thebanquosghost on Tumblr and AO3 for the beta help! Seriously, check out her fics! They are wonderful and full of MacDaddy goodness!   
> And also a big thank you to those who have given me support and kind comments, you are all so wonderful! For those of you who are too shy to comment, don't worry! I am open to ALL feedback, especially critique, and I value concrit like it's the AIR I BREATHE!   
> See you next update x 


	9. Chapter 9

Another week, another hangover...

Dawn was kind enough to book a room for MacCready at the Dugout Inn, but she was always sleeping elsewhere within Diamond City. Nevertheless, she collected him in the morning with that same punctuality. Eight o'clock, on the dot.

He was mostly used for grunt work at first. She had saved up enough caps to buy a place called  _ Homeplate _ by the city market, and everyday he was tasked with either moving in some furniture or taking out some trash from inside. After a week, the place was spruced up, and it was definitely the nicest home he's ever been in.

According to Dawn, the place still needed some work. She blabbered something trivial – painting the walls or something – but he never listened. MacCready sparked up a cigarette and puffed away whilst she described her plans of grandeur for her new house.

"Listen," he began, interrupting her mid sentence. "I'm gonna go out for a sec. Got some things I need to do."

She looked at him with a thoughtful expression. "Sure."

He didn't hesitate to leave her in the house. The Intel letter was still in his front pocket, and he needed to get it delivered. There was a courier service offered by the guards at the City entrance, and after haggling a  _ suitable _ price to get the courier to deliver his message to dangerous Gunner territory, the letter was finally on its way.

Even though the letter is now no longer in his pocket, the weight on his chest still lingered.

* * *

 

"You geared up?" Dawn asked as she strapped on some armor to her shoulders. Her backpack was swapped out this time, alternatively she now donned a series of utility pouches to her waist and thighs. MacCready had never seen her travel light until now, and a certain anxiousness crept up to him as he wondered what she was planning.

He didn't let his worry show. Instead, he gave her his signature smirk as he holstered a newly bought pistol to his side. "I'm cocked, locked, and ready to rock, boss."

Dawn gave him her own smirk, the fire returning to her impish features. "Good," she approved. "We need to get to Goodneighbor. Who knows what kinda trouble we'll run into on the way there."

Another smirk was his reply as they both set out of Diamond City. Dawn took lead, her strides strong and confident as they marched on. He noticed that there was a certain fire in her today; much more confident than the meek woman he picked up in the Third Rail. Despite this obvious change, MacCready couldn't decide whether or not this change was a good thing. Sometimes, overconfidence can lead to disaster.

Gunfire could be heard in the distance, and it echoed off the dilapidated buildings around them as they trekked through Boston. Dawn seemed more alert this time as she altered her course to be closer to walls and cover should they need it. Based off their ambush attack from raiders the last time they walked through the city, Dawn has visibly learned her lesson by being vigilant.

MacCready closed the gap between them, tapping her on the shoulder to get Dawn's attention. "Sounds close, want me to scout ahead?"

She shook her head. "Best if we stick together." Her expression shifted to something more serious. "I know there are some gunners round the block from Goodneighbor. There's a shortcut we can take, I can bribe them to let us pass through-"

"No." He winced when he realised how quickly he protested. Dawn's expression soured further.

"I've done it many times before," she said as she glared at the mercenary. "These guys don't give a shit as long as you pay them. They won't give us any trouble."

Before he could object further to her plan Dawn pushed forward on her new route, determined on her detour north and away from the gunfire. They travelled quietly, talking only when necessary. It wasn't long before they were in the shadow of the Mass Fusion Building, a looming skyscraper which functioned as an outpost for the Gunners. MacCready looked up with distaste as they neared it.

Dawn slowed her stride as they rounded the corner. Two gunners were patrolling on the road ahead, each with a weapon drawn and watching the duo as they approached.

"One step closer and you're dead!" The taller of the mercenaries hollered down the street, halting Dawn mid-step. She pulled out a bag of caps from one of her utility pouches and held it up in truce. The action made them lower their guns slightly, but they were still visibly cautious.

"I just want to pass through." She tossed the bag at them, the caps rattling audibly as it landed at their feet. "There's a hundred caps there for your trouble."

MacCready glared at the two gunners as one of them picked up the bag, weighing it on the palm of his hand before putting it away. Both of them holstered their guns, satisfied with the trade and beckoned them through. Dawn shot MacCready a knowing smirk over her shoulder before carrying on ahead, but he didn't share the sentiment. It was a waste of caps, and it took all of his resolve not to scold her for the transaction.

He trudged past them as he pulled his hat further down his forehead and pulled up his collar in an attempt to hide his face, making sure to not make any eye contact with the mercenaries, but he halted when a hand grabbed him by the shoulder. He reeled around to face them with a scowl.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" The taller gunner said as he stood over him. MacCready shirked the hand from his shoulder and stomped away with a muttered curse. Dawn was waiting expectantly at the entrance of Goodneighbor, hands folded over her chest as she curiously studied her hired gun.

"What was that-" she began but was cut off when he shouldered past her.

"Just get in, will ya." He snapped. "Do whatever you came here for. I'll be in the Third Rail when you're done."

She scoffed at his brusque change of attitude before she batted the hat off his head with a swift hand. "What is wrong with you?" Dawn stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the bar. "The hell, Mac? What did I do this time, huh?" He was about to reply but she quickly picked up his hat from the floor and shoved it into his chest. "Y-you know what, forget it. I'll find you when I'm finished."

He heard her scold herself under her breath as she walked away, shaking her head in the process and leaving MacCready alone in the town entrance. He spotted Daisy in his peripheral. She was also shaking her head as she watched him from behind her shop counter; he chose to ignore her too as he dusted off his hat before he slipped it on and made his way to the Third Rail.

* * *

 

Red tinged smoke hung in the air, complemented with familiar tones of Magnolia's sultry voice and the low chatter of other vagabond's that have wandered into the main bar. The whole evening was a haze of one stiff drink to the next, and the young mercenary had lost track of time before Charlie reminded him that the bar closes in ten minutes.

MacCready rolled his eyes at the Mr. Handy robot as it noisily threw an empty beer bottle into a glass bin behind the bar as if to prove a point, but he heeded its warning and downed the remainder of his drink before trundling outside. It was incredibly dark out, and he blindly stumbled to the bench underneath the balcony of Mayor Hancock's usual perch. His boss still had not made an appearance since their earlier altercation, and he was anxious with the thought of whether or not she had abandoned him and left.

"So, are you gonna visit me or not?"

He could recognise that husky voice anywhere, and he looked up from under the brim of his hat to see Daisy standing over him, her black eyes twinkling in the darkness. "Sorry Daisy," he mumbled, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

Daisy sat down next to him, chuckling to herself as she did so. There was a small envelope in her weathered hands, crumpled and bent from the journey it had endured. She held it out to him, and MacCready slowly held it with his own calloused hands. A letter from Duncan, and he tucked it away into the recesses of his duster to be read at a later time.

"So, who are you travelling with this time?" She asked. MacCready shrugged as he wrapped his coat tighter around himself. "I remember her selling me a hazmat suit over a month ago, but I didn't catch her name."

"Dawn," was his reply. He chose not to divulge further. "She's supposed to meet me here, but I think she might'a forgot about me or something..."

Daisy hummed to herself in thought. "This happen often?"

"Nah," he sighed a small puff of mist into the cold air. "She pays well, though. Which reminds me..." He sat up to pull out his own stash of caps from his pocket and handed it to the ghoul. "Send this to Duncan for me, please."

Daisy looked at the large bag in her hands, then frowned in realisation. "No letter for him this time?" She pressed as she set them down on her lap. "That's real unusual of you, Robert."

Her statement hung in the air as MacCready bit his lip in thought, truly at loss of what to say to his dear friend. Daisy didn't push for an answer, a trait of hers that he really appreciated of her. Sure, Daisy may be curious, but he never felt obliged to divulge every little thing about himself to her. If he wanted his space, or his secrets, Daisy never showed offence. But he knew that at the drop of a hat, she would always support him if he brought himself to ask for the help.

His thoughts stopped when he spotted Dawn ahead, stumbling from the Rexford to the entrance of the Memory Den. "Thanks Daisy, but I've gotta go," he said as he stood up and walked towards his boss. Whether or not Daisy replied, he didn't know; as all of his focus was on Dawn.

And his boss was  _ heavily _ inebriated. 

"Boss," he called out as he approached her. Dawn paid him no mind as she wobbled on her feet, her hand gripped firmly on the door handle to the Memory Den. The door gave way and she tripped inside. "H-hey, where are you going?"

The door clattered shut behind her, and MacCready winced at how loud the noise was in comparison to the still night. He entered the Den with more grace than his employer and scanned the room for any clue of where she went.

He did not have to search far when he heard Irma sigh with exasperation at the far end of the hall.

"Oh honey, I told you, going back into those pods will not help you." Irma's tone was gentle, but it still snapped with a certain finality a parent would use when scolding a child. She had both hands on Dawn's shoulders, either to maintain her concentration or to prop up the drunk woman, but it was obvious that her words did not settle well with the vault dweller when Dawn wriggled out of her grasp.

"Just... n-no! Just once!" Dawn's voice broke halfway as she choked on her own tears. "Please, I'm gonna forget his face! I-I need to see my husband again!"

He had seen enough.

"Irma!" He snapped his fingers at Dawn as he shouted to the manageress. "She's with me. I'll take her to the Rexford to sleep it off."

Irma looked up at him with a pleading look, then smiled apologetically at Dawn. "C'mon hon, you've had a hard day. Get yourself some rest." She guided Dawn towards MacCready, whom stood by the entrance with one of his infamous scowls set upon his features. "He'll take you to your room."

Dawn sniffed when she realised Irma was referring to him. "He's an asshole..." She slurred, which only caused his scowl to deepen.

"Tell me something I don't know." MacCready grunted as he escorted Dawn outside, but his blue eyes hardened when he fully took in Dawn's appearance as they walked to the hotel. The circles under her eyes were much darker than before, and her skin was pale and clammy on her face and neck. Her irises, usually focused and sharp, were completely dilated and dull. Another curse escaped from his lips before he could stop it when he realised exactly what state she was in.

His question was blunt. "What chem are you on?" 

Dawn shrugged as she mumbled incoherently.

_ You pathetic little... _

"Fine," he snapped. "Don't tell me. Just don't make it a habit."

Of all the things she could have done, MacCready did not expect her to stoop to using chems. She had her emotional baggage, and she did talk about her pre-war life so often that it now began to grate on him. But for her to drown her sorrows? That was new.

He took a hit of whatever he could get his hands on at one point in the past, but that was when he was at his lowest. Losing Lucy and leaving Duncan in the care of someone else... that tore him. His chest would still ache if he thought of it too much, but he quickly learned that chems was not the answer. As soon as he came down from the high his problems clawed back and welcomed him with open arms. Escape was not the answer.

"Day tripper..." She whispered when they entered the hotel. MacCready gripped her by the arm as he nearly dragged her up the stairs, her balance from the sudden onset of vertigo was causing her to lean dangerously with each step she took. "Fred rec... recommend... he said-"

"I know," he sighed. They had finally reached the hallway on the top floor, but MacCready had to prop Dawn up against the doorframe; one hand on her shoulder to stop her from tipping over and the other to open the room door. He beckoned her inside, but not before rolling his eyes when she swayed inside and tripped up on the corner of the bed. "Easy there..." He steadied her once more and plopped her down on the bed.

"Don't want to sleep." Dawn sounded so forlorn when she said that. He felt no pity towards her – getting herself into this mess was her fault – but now was not the time to reprimand her. "M'not tired."

"You may not be tired now, but you will be." He set down his rifle and hat on the couch, then strode back to Dawn to set aside her own guns. Now unarmed – and safe – he gently pushed back her shoulder to make her lie down. "Just ride out the high and you'll feel sleepy soon enough. Day tripper will give you highs in waves; don't fight it, and don't try to control it."

"Okay..." She closed her eyes, taking in his advice. "Feels like I'm sinking."

"Relax," he soothed as he went to sit on the couch. His rifle was relocated to the floor, but within arm's reach should he need quick access to it. "Nothing's gonna happen. I'll be right here, so you don't have to worry."

It was silent from then on, bar the sounds of Dawn's gentle breathing and the snores from the room next door. Sleep was out of the question for MacCready. He was tired – exhausted, even – but he chose the peace of mind when it came to his pay check keeping herself out of danger, or to not choke on her own vomit in her sleep. If she had a bad turn, he would be able to coax her back to normalcy. He at least knew what to do.

Back when he was running with the gunners some new recruits had decided to take a hit of psycho they scored from clearing out a raider camp. The theory was that performance in combat would be greatly enhanced; it was created for military purposes before the war after all. But as the night wore on, the high got worse for them. MacCready was unfortunate enough to be the one to discover them when the group started their trip in hell. The syringe did not contain a full dose of psycho, but it was cut with a cocktail of some other unknown drugs.

He was the one who kept them from completely going out of control. Their weapons were confiscated, they were kept in safer territory and MacCready was the one who constantly reassured them as they came down from their high. It was challenging, and he made sure to chew out the recruits once they were sober, but at least it was an experience he could learn from.

Thankfully, Dawn was much easier to handle.

The first rays of daylight shone through the slats of the window when morning finally came. MacCready was drained at this point, and he could easily fall asleep on the couch, but Dawn had finally woken up with an audible jolt as she shot up from the bed.

She clutched her head in her hands as she calmed down her breathing.

"Are you finally sober?" MacCready snapped. "First you disappear for ages, then you bother Irma in the Memory Den; and just when I thought my evening couldn't get any better, you decide to get high on fucki- freaking Day Tripper! The hell were you thinking?"

Dawn was still in the same position on the bed, but her breathing had finally slowed to normal. She didn't attempt to make any eye contact as she decided to finally move and stand up. "Get ready," she announced. "Dr. Amari told me that there's a group called the Railroad. They have the technology to decode the courser chip I have."

"Yeah, sure, sure... dodge the question." He heaved himself up from the couch, snatching his rifle from the floor and shoving his hat forcefully onto his head. "I don't even know why I bother talking." He paused when Dawn stepped in front, her eyes wide and conflicted as she silently studied him. It was awkward, not to mention tense for him to be so openly stared at, and he didn't know exactly what to do or say. So, he stood still; and waited.

"You look tired," she said.

_No shit,_ he wanted to say, but something told him not to pop at her again. "I _am_ tired."

Dawn casted her gaze down at this point, her expression slightly souring at his statement. "Were you up all night for me?"

"Yeah."

Whatever she was thinking, it was hard to discern from her expression. There was a certain resolve which returned to her upon that revelation, and she steeled as she was suddenly a flurry of movement around the room. Guns, ammo, combat boots... she packed them all and clipped on her utility belt. "It won't happen again," she reaffirmed when that last of her ammo pouches were secured to her waist. "Now get some sleep. I'm just going to talk to Mayor Hancock for a while. When you're rested and ready, meet me at his place."

And with that, she left.

Without argument, he took her advice and set himself on the bed to sleep.

* * *

 

When anyone visits the Old State House of Goodneighbor, they often tread carefully when in the presence of Fahrenheit. A formidable woman with an equally strong presence, she stood before MacCready as he entered the building. He never liked the woman, with her sharp tongue and condescending sneer, but he couldn't help but feel some respect for her. She was, after all, the Mayor's right-hand  _ man, _ and she did her job incredibly well.

"MacCready," she said, arms crossed as she loomed over him. "Would'a thought you'd be slumped in some alley at this time. Good to know you do other things besides drinking yourself blind."

He rolled his eyes. "Make yourself useful and get out of my way," he warned. She didn't budge. "Or is the stick up your ass too big for you to move?"

This only made her scoff. "Nice, Mac. Shame that running your mouth isn't as good as you running from your problems." With that last remark she gave passage to the sniper with a small step to the side. "Hancock is upstairs with that Minuteman shrimp you've been travelling with, unless you're here for yet another loan; it's not like your debt is bigger than your grave."

He didn't even make an attempt to look at her when he sauntered upstairs. As much as he wanted to shout other obscenities at the bodyguard, his promise and his unhealthy respect for the woman stopped him from doing so. He wasn't here to spit insults at Fahrenheit, he was here to meet Dawn.

When he entered the Mayor's office, Hancock and Dawn were still busy talking as they sat across from each other among the tattered sofas. Hancock was no doubt high on jet, his skeletal hands jittering and moving animatedly as he spoke. His boss was thankfully uninebriated, and she suggested calmly about her plans for trade with one of her nearby settlements. A steady supply of ammo from Goodneighbor for regular shipments of food from County Crossing. A fair deal that Hancock was happy about.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you're building an army," Hancock chuckled as he inhaled another puff of jet. His black eyes glazed ever so slightly as he relaxed into his chair. It was then that he noticed the mercenary in the room, and Dawn followed his gaze to see that her hired gun has arrived. "MacCready, huh? That's a hell of a gun you've got at your back."

MacCready gave him his signature smirk. "I aim to please," he said as decided to pull out a cigarette to spark. Dawn rolled her eyes at his comment, but gave Hancock a small smile as she stood up.

"Pleasure doing business with you," She said as she shook Hancock's hand. "I'll come visit the next time I'm passing through here."

"No sweat." He took her hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, only letting go to tip his hat slightly. "You take care of yourself out there."

A small blush creeped up to the tips of her ears, made obvious by her sudden urge to tuck her hair behind them. Dawn quickly walked out, beckoning MacCready to follow her as they finally made their way outside.

"So," MacCready coughed after a rough toke on his cigarette before he offered it out to her. "Where to, boss?"

She picked the cigarette from his fingers and breathed in the smoke. She threw the butt on the ground and exhaled a puff of her own. "We follow the Freedom Trail."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly... this fic is still alive!
> 
> I know that not much has really happened this chapter, but think of this as the eye of the storm. The next few chapters are going to be a real shit show!  
> Anyway, for those who have stuck with this story since the beginning, thank you so much for returning to read this! For those who are new, hi!   
> I aim to release the next chapter sometime over the holidays, so if I don't update before then; Merry Christmas! And a Happy New Year! What's your New Year's resolutions going to be? Mine is to stop crying every time I watch a David Attenborough documentary.
> 
> (Yes, you read that right.)


	10. Chapter 10

Blood splatters were everywhere. The closer they walked to Boston Common, the more dried blood they came across. It was quiet – almost _too_ quiet – when they arrived at the clearing. Casings of spent bullets were scattered amongst the blood and rubble; but even stranger was the _lack_ of bodies.

"The Freedom Trail starts here," Dawn proudly announced as she neared the edge of the park. She perched herself on the rim of the broken fountain, studying the map on her Pip-Boy as she planned her path. MacCready stayed vigilant, hands gripped on his rifle as he scanned their surroundings. He eyed a plank of wood lying on the road, white paint spelling haphazard words on the weathered surface. Dawn spotted it too and walked cautiously over to the plank, craning her neck as she tried to discern what it said. "Swan. Keep...out." She scoffed. "I wonder what they're referring to."

MacCready knew _exactly_ what the warnings were referring to.

"Keep your voice down," he hushed as he focused his attention to the pond at the far end of the park. Amongst the debris and garbage was a lump, grey and cracked with age, as it floated lazily in the sludge. Perhaps before the war it was a boat of sorts, shaped like a giant fiberglass swan, but now its frayed remnants were scattered in the fetid waters.

 _There._ A slight movement. He was perceptive enough to spot it.

"Boss," he whispered. "We need to get out of here."

He almost jumped when he felt Dawn step next him, her focus also on the pond in the distance. "I saw it too," she said as she armed herself with her pistol. "What do you think it is? Mirelurks?"

He shook his head. "No, but it's big."

His response was enough to disturb her. They took their caution as a sign to quietly move away from the area-

A loud hiss resounded behind them, followed by the loud clanking of a Protectron powering up. It whirred as it's processors began to boot, causing Dawn and MacCready to panic from the all of the noise it was generating. He turned to his partner, who was horrified at the loud robot, and then watched it as it emerged from its charging pod with three metallic stomps.

_"WELCOME. PATRIOTS. TO THE. FREEDOM TRAIL-"_

"Shit." He allowed the expletive this time as he eyed the pond. The water bubbled, then stilled. But he didn't know how long until the Protectron rouses whatever was in that lake. "We gotta shut this thing up!"

_"FEAST YOUR. EARS. AND LEARN MORE-"_

Dawn immediately sprang into action. She unclipped a plug from her Pip-Boy as she haphazardly shoved it into the charge port of the robot, her hands shaking as she fiddled with the plug and with her Pip-Boy. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." She chanted her nervous mantra as she clicked and scrolled through screens of code. The Protectron carried on with its tour, its tinny voice echoing around the clearing as it pointed at the trail with a metal claw.

A deep growl could be heard, followed by more bubbling as the pond stirred. The fiberglass swan bobbed momentarily before it sank halfway into the water. Although there was no more movement, it did not ease MacCready's deepening anxiety. Dawn was practically scowling in concentration as she scanned her screen. Her eyes lit up when she found what she was looking for.

"Bingo!" She breathed a sigh of relief when she unplugged the lead. The robot immediately paused in its scripted speech as it reverted back to a default pose. The common was quiet once more.

"Uh...what did you do?" The sniper eyed the machine with mistrust. 

"I hacked into it." Dawn was equally as wary. "I...think? I'm still getting the hang of it."

"Well, whatever you did, it worked-"

A beep, and the robot whirred back to life. It extended its claw so suddenly – Dawn was quick enough to dodge it – but it made no further movement after that.

_"Welcome to. Boston Common. Metro. Station. May I have. Your tokens. Please."_

Dawn balked at the machine before turning to her partner. "You, uh...You have any subway tokens, Mac?"

A blank stare was his reply. He absentmindedly patted at his pockets, despite knowing full well that he would have no reason whatsoever to have any of those stupid tokens on him. "Nope."

She hummed when she looked back at the robot, brows furrowed in deep thought. "Maybe I should have changed the personality settings to something else-"

_"TRAVELING WITHOUT. A VALID. TOKEN. INCURS A SIXTY. DOLLAR PENALTY."_

A siren blared from the Protectron in steady alarm, lights flashed from the top of its head plate and it grabbed Dawn's wrist to keep her from escaping. She scrabbled helplessly as she pulled away, but its grip was too tight. "I can't..." She swore under her breath as she tried to resist. "Mac, I can't get it off me!"

_"PLEASE WAIT HERE. FOR THE. AUTHORITIES. TO COLLECT YOUR. FINE-"_

The ground shook with a thunderous roar. Both of their attention was at the far end of the common when they watched the swan fragments rise, black water dropping in fat rivulets as a giant, hulking behemoth emerged from the pond. MacCready looked on in horror when the behemoth shook off some slimy water from its limbs, grey skin wrinkled from being submerged underwater, and it turned, and the giant glared straight at them with its black beady eyes.

MacCready barged into Dawn, shooting the connective ball joint of the Protectron with his sidearm, and kicked at the claw to free her. The Swan was running towards them with giant strides, yellowed bricks for teeth bared as it scowled at its new victims.

"Move!" MacCready yelled as he dragged Dawn with him. Another roar echoed behind them as they ran away. The Protectron's shrill siren glitched when the giant grabbed it with fat hands, crushing the metal between its fingers. It threw the mangled robot at the pair, and they narrowly dodged it when its body crashed in front of them. A giant hand made a grab for Dawn, but she ducked and scrambled away from its grasp. The mercenary whipped out his rifle and shot at the Swan, drawing its attention to him and hopefully make it ignore Dawn at its feet. 

"Run!" He bellowed, grabbing some of the rounds strapped around his thigh to reload his rifle. He fired at the mutant, slowing it momentarily, but it gained back its momentum and swiped at the young man.

He's not as quick to dodge.

All breath escaped him when he was knocked aside like a kicked can. He let go of his rifle from the pain and the force of the blow, and landed a few meters away. His discarded rifle clattered next to him. Stars flicked into his vision as he lifted himself up onto his elbows and coughed – and _by God_ did it hurt to breathe – with his ribs aching under the strain.

The stars receded, but his hazed vision only saw a giant foot in the air above, ready to stomp and crush him.

Gunfire. The Swan was jarred enough to lose its balance and its foot missed MacCready by inches. Dawn was stood in the open as she emptied her clip, bullet after bullet, each shot hitting the Swan's neck. The giant swayed, its fiberglass armour creaking from the movement. It switched its attention back at Dawn with a grunt and stomped over to her and roared in anger.

A raised foot. Another stomp. But Dawn evaded each attack. More rapid fire from her pistol popped through the air, but it wasn't powerful enough to pierce its thick hide. MacCready crawled to his rifle, not quite trusting his legs yet to stand or run; and instinct kicked in as he assumed his sniping position.

The Swan had skin too thick for a bullet to penetrate.

_Aim for the eyes._

He held his breath. _One. Two. Three._ Sights lined, trigger pulled, a crack and echo as the bullet hit home.

Blood and spittle sprayed onto the concrete as the hulking creature bellowed a loud cry in pain. Some of the fluids rained on Dawn and she grimaced in disgust as she tried to run away from its rampage. It stomped around her, and she did her best to evade the wild kicks, but she was running low on energy. She was slowing down.

One thrash of the giant's arm batted her into the ground. She rolled violently from the momentum, skidding into a stop with her pistol still gripped tightly in her shaking hands. There was a brief moment when MacCready's heart stopped as the Swan brought down its fist to crush her, but she rolled away from the impact.

Then she did something _stupid._

Dawn grabbed onto one of the swan fragments strapped around its arm, and she was lifted up into the air as it tried to shake her off. MacCready never noticed until now just how _sure footed_ she was as she carried on climbing up the giant's limb and perched herself onto the behemoth's back. A kick was all it took to dislodge one of the fiberglass scrap from the Swan's' shoulder, and she promptly shoved a few frag grenades into the space between boat and grey skin.

But the Swan grabbed her with a meaty hand and threw her like she weighed nothing. Fetid water splashed into the air as Dawn landed in the pond, just as a giant explosion detonated from the colossus in a cloud of smoke and blood.

The haze dissipated to reveal the Swan on the floor; still and oozing brown blood from the crater on its back and shoulder. Its arm was blown off and lay in a heap a few meters away from the main body...and the head was still rolling down the common.

_Where's Dawn?_

He realized that she was still in the pond. Wasting no time, he scrambled to his feet and ran over to the water's edge. It was black and foul and he could not see her through the murk. His stomach sank at the thought of Dawn's body being lost somewhere in the muck.

"Boss?" He called out as he skirted around the edge, scanning the area for any sign of her. Nothing. His chest suddenly felt tight. 

 _She's dead_. 

"Dawn!"

A hand shot out of the water at the far end of the pool, followed by another, and Dawn emerged with a gasp as she dragged herself out onto land like a beached whale. That familiar glint of gold caught his eye when Dawn pulled out her rope necklace, wedding rings glittering in the sunlight before she clasped at them with a fist. He sprinted to her side, hauling her up, but she collapsed onto all fours in a fit of violent coughs that wracked her whole body. 

Relief washed over him like waves crashing to shore, his heartbeat so loud it was thunderous in his ears. Through the shaking and spluttering, Dawn was at least breathing. MacCready stared at her, dumbstruck and in awe at how she had miraculously survived a battle where the odds were stacked against their favour.

_She's alive._

"That," she wheezed, "was disgusting!"

The brush next to them rattled as the Swan's decapitated head finally rolled to a stop, its bloodied eyes unseeing as it faced the pair like it had just presented itself as their gruesome prize.

"Ah..." Dawn quirked up a brow as she acknowledged the dismembered mutant. "It's dead. Good."

"Yup." He confirmed, but with the adrenaline now waning he found himself laughing. Was it out of shock? Relief? MacCready didn't give a shit. They were _alive._ He had fought and survived against the largest super mutant he has ever seen, and this _pampered pre-war relic_ killed it. "I don't know if that was stupid, crazy or genius...but you did it. You actually killed it."

She grinned up at him. "I tick all of the above."

And with that, she vomited.

* * *

 

"I can still taste it."

Dawn gagged, but quickly regained her composure as they both walked up to the old North Church. It felt like she had complained for the hundredth time during their trek along the Freedom Trail. Sure, the complaints were something MacCready could handle. But the constant retching? No. It took every fibre of his being to refrain from throttling her whenever she dry heaved every second.

Right on cue, Dawn doubled over and retched.

They both paused at the doorway, with Dawn busy gagging while MacCready crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Drink some water or something!" He chided as he handed her his flask, but she shook her head vehemently from the offer.

"No thanks," she said with more strain than necessary. "Swallowing that pond water has pretty much put me off any liquid."

He angrily shook his flask at her, water sloshing inside like crazy. "Drink the damn thing! Or rinse your mouth, I don't care! You're not helping yourself by making yourself sick all the time!"

Dawn flicked her gaze onto the flask, then to the floor, and back to the flask. Begrudgingly, she reached for it and took a few tentative sips with a grimace. "Don't coddle me," she said.

"Just looking out for you," he sighed whilst giving her a shrug. "You ready?"

A small laugh escaped from her lips as she gave him a small and cynical smile. "Yes, boss."

Weapons at the ready, both of them entered the old and dusty building with caution. It was dark inside, despite Dawn lighting up the area in a green glow with her Pip-Boy, and they both eyed every blind turning and dark corner.

It smelled like rotten wood and decayed flesh as they explored inside. The roof was caved in and what was once the support beams now lay in a heap of rubble in the middle of the floor. Amongst the dust and debris, the skeletal forms of feral ghouls roused from the rubble, groaning and hissing as if their resurrection caused them great pain.

Ferals. The sight of them up close sickened MacCready, and they filled him a hatred so raw it _hurt._ One of them looked straight at the sniper, and he couldn't help but have Lucy's pained screams echo through his skull.

A ghoul streaked towards MacCready, the speed of its advance jarring him out of his stupor. He raised his rifle and promptly shot it between the eyes. There were not many of them, maybe six in total, so they were not overwhelmed. Easy pickings, but being in the near vicinity of them made him uneasy.

"Hey! Under here!" Dawn called him over from underneath a broken balcony. She beckoned him over before disappearing through a door and descending down a damp stairway.

He followed diligently, keeping his distance from her in case they were attacked from behind. Small and enclosed spaces were not his forte. Sniping from afar, hidden from view, keeping himself safe whilst playing on the element of surprise; all of these were the conditions that he felt most comfortable with. Now? He was on edge. His jaw clenched painfully as he strained his eyes in the darkness.

Gunfire ahead as Dawn easily dispatched more ghouls with her pistol. She was proficient, self-assured...and he was shaking.

"-quiet lately."

He blinked. They were deeper within the tunnels, with no memory of him reaching the end of the catacomb. Dawn stood in front as she looked up at him expectantly. It took him a while realise that Dawn had been talking to her partner.

"W-what?"

Dawn rolled her eyes at his dim reply. "I said; you've been quiet lately." Her demeanour changed slightly as she took better notice of him. "You're pale. You okay?"

He was caught off guard by her concern, heightened already by his growing anxiety. There was a gentleness in her eyes which soothed him slightly, but the comfort was heavily outweighed by his feeling of impending doom. Muscles felt like they were coiled like a spring. A rushing sound filled his ears like a rippling shockwave. Was it the sound of his heartbeat? There was no way of telling. All cognitive thought and reasoning left him.

All he could focus on was the darkness at the corners of his vision. The shadows within the catacombs seemed to move and warp.

_Something is coming._

"Stay with me Mac."

Warm hands held him by the arms, her voice grounding him and rooting him back to reality. A few deep breaths later and the rushing sounds were fading. He was no longer hyper-aware of the darkness. It was like cold water had been tipped over him, shocking his psyche and putting him back in full control of his mind and body.

He looked up – only realising that at some point he decided to sit on the floor – and saw that Dawn was kneeling down beside him. Her lips were set in a thin line as she studied him with evident concern, her hands gently rubbing up and down his arms. "That's it," she encouraged. "Nothing is going happen. There's no danger here."

Last night came to mind, with him reassuring Dawn whilst she was high off her nut. Only now their roles were reversed. She was comforting him. She was reminding him that she will keep him safe.

For all of those times he yelled at her; for being too soft, too loud, too whiny, too curious...he wished that he could take it back. It was a ridiculous time to lament such a thing, but he wanted to acknowledge how much of an asshole he had been. And the biggest realisation of all hit him.

Dawn, despite all of the bullshit he made her endure, had the patience of a _Saint_.

She called him her partner. Calling her _boss_ was just a professional habit he had, but she didn’t treat him as such. He felt like he really was a teacher, a partner...hell, maybe even a friend. He may be paid for such company, but she had always been generous to him.

He didn’t feel expendable.

He didn’t feel used.

If anything, he felt valued.

It was like she _actually_ gave a damn about him, and MacCready wanted to curse out loud because he felt sick over the thought of backstabbing her. If only he had never joined the gunners and had discovered Dawn sooner...if only he wasn’t so stupid to lie to her and vent his frustration on her like some asshole.

_I am an asshole._

And Dawn deserved better. She was still looking at him with kindness, not because she was protecting her investment but because she is a decent human being. She doesn’t deserve to have the gunners take advantage of her hard work. She doesn’t deserve to be searching for her missing son with a _liar._

_She doesn’t deserve me._

“Dawn...” his mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. “I need to tell you something.”

Dawn took this as a sign to stand up. She extended her hand to him to help him up, her façade confident again. “Can it wait?” 

He tried not to deflate, but he understood that now is probably a bad time anyway to reveal how much shit he has landed her in with Winlock and Barnes. Head hung low, he gave her a faint nod.

“Yeah, I guess it could wait.”

She nodded, but gave him a reassuring smile which indicated she has at least acknowledged the conversation for later. Hands placed firmly on her hips, she turned to face the brick wall and concentrated on a dial installed into a wall. It was metal, words spelled out in the perimeter with an arrow pointing down to the carved vigil in the centre. Dawn slowly turned the dial and pressed down on the vigil as she reached each letter for the combination. 

_RAILROAD._

On the final press a series of clicks and gears resounded from the dial, and the wall opened up to reveal a dark passageway.

Dust now settled, they entered the shadows.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!! I hope your day is filled with loads of fun, love and a shit tonne of food!   
> Also, what is your BEST Christmas memory? Is it funny? Sad? Strange? Need some ideas for a future chapter I’m planning and I would love to include a part of you into this story!   
> Have a happy Holiday and lots of love to you all!   
> Xxx


	11. Chapter 11

It was pitch black.

Then there were lights, blinding and shining directly into their eyes. The familiar whir of a mini-gun trilled in front, and Dawn and MacCready were frozen into place from the threat ahead.

"Stop right there!"

The quick rush of adrenaline made the lights even brighter, and he squinted to see the woman who shouted her firm command. She stood in-between two other guards, one pointing a rifle and the other holding up a mini-gun. Both weapons were aimed at them. The woman, however, showed no weapon drawn but instead held a cigarette. She looked too relaxed, like one would be if they were going for a quick smoke outside, but the hard look in her heavily lined eyes showed no such casualness.

Dawn took the hint and held her hands up in a cool surrender, but MacCready kept his rifle firmly in his grip as he eyed the trio. 

The woman puffed on her cigarette, tendrils of smoke surrounding her as she spoke her next words. "You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting." Her eyes narrowed, the distrust evident when she squared her shoulders. "But before we go any further, answer my questions.

Who the hell are you?"

Dawn remained calm. "I followed the Freedom Trail looking for the Railroad." She slowly brought her hands down as she spoke. "I'm not your enemy."

MacCready couldn't help but clench his jaw as he watched the exchange in the side-lines. _Dawn has this,_ he told himself. If there was going to be someone who can diffuse a hostile situation through talking, it would be her. But the woman ahead gave no indication of her intentions; would she talk or order their deaths? Nothing in her demeanour gave it away.

"If that's true, you have nothing to fear," her eyes narrowed. "Who told you how to contact us?"

"Dr. Amari told me how to find you." Dawn said as she gave MacCready a quick reassuring glance. 

"Very interesting..." Her expression shifted, but a quick gesture from her hand caused the two body-guards to lower their guns. "Last question; why are you here?"

Dawn placed her hand in her pocket, pulling out a small lump wrapped in plastic. She quickly unwrapped it, the plastic discarded to the floor, and held the metal component up in the air to glint in the harsh light. "I have a courser chip."

The woman's façade was broken at the sight of the chip, cigarette in hand now forgotten and dropped to the floor. Dawn quickly pocketed the component as she waited for her response. MacCready involuntarily gulped as the silence seemed to stretch a beat too long. Finally, the woman crossed her arms and spoke. "And so you have. My name is Desdemona, I'm the leader of the Railroad. And you are?"

"Dawn."

His boss smirked as she crossed her arms, the sight of her body language eerily reminded MacCready of himself. Was she copying him? He took note to ask her about it later. From behind Desdemona, an unassuming man with sunglasses sauntered up to the trio. He seemed to be bored based by the way he aimlessly walked around the room, but the amused smile plastered on his face indicated that boredom was not an emotion he was feeling at that moment. The stranger walked up to the far wall and leaned up against it – and though it was hard to tell with the sunglasses, MacCready was perceptive enough to see that the stranger was looking at Dawn.

"I didn't know you were having a party," he said. His voice held a playful lilt to his tone, further adding to his amused aura. Somehow the room was less tense as soon as he spoke, undoing Desdemona's effort of creating an air of unease amongst the two newcomers. "What gives with my invitation?"

Desdemona seemed irritated by the stranger's presence, and she cast an annoyed glare to the man. "Deacon!" She barked. "You're late!"

Deacon ignored Desdemona's remark and paid his full attention to Dawn instead. "Oh, I see you've invited the Courser killer. Nice."

His offhand comment alarmed Desdemona, but only slightly. Reverting back to her stoic self she turned back to Deacon. "You're say this intruder actually killed a Courser? Single-handedly?"

"Don't believe me? You should see the Swan at the common, yeesh." Deacon grimaced as he shook his head. "That corpse is gonna stink up the place for weeks, and you think it smelled bad when it was alive."

"The Swan, huh?" The Railroad leader looked impressed as she surveyed Dawn. "Looks can be deceiving. And here I thought you were just another Scavver."

"News Flash, Dez," Deacon interjected as he started to list each point with his fingers. "This lady is _kind_ _of_ a big deal out there; she's the leader of the Minutemen! It seems like half of the Commonwealth is flying her flag. And – as if that wasn't enough – she's the one who got Nick Valentine out of a jam. Talked her way past Skinny Malone, too."

Desdemona never took her eyes away from Dawn as she listened to Deacon's intel, digesting his words whilst her harsh gazed scrutinized the vault-dweller. "Is that true?" She asked.

Dawn quickly held up her hand – almost like a schoolgirl would if they wanted to ask a question in class – and gave the Railroad members an apologetic smile. "Yes, it's true...but, uh...one sec." She turned on her heel and ran back down into the tunnels, leaving the remaining parties confused by her sudden disappearance.

Then the tunnels were filled with echoes of her retching.

"Oookay..." Deacon scratched the back of his head, slightly dislodging his black hair. When MacCready saw his hair shift in one piece, he realised that the agent was actually wearing a wig. Deacon and Desdemona gave each other a concerned look before diverting their attention to MacCready. "Is she alright?"

The sniper shrugged, unsure of whether or not to reveal Dawn's true state of wellbeing. Before he could open his mouth to reply, Dawn returned, looking more worse for wear than before. She pushed a hand through her hair to sweep it away from her face, but it only revealed just how pale and tired she was looking at that moment. Everyone watched her as she strode back to the middle of the room.

Voice hoarse, Dawn coughed before continuing. "So, where were we?"

* * *

 

MacCready sat by a large stone table, surrounded by other Railroad agents and members. Dawn and Desdemona were busy negotiating terms in regards to the Courser chip, the said object resting in the middle of the stone table like it was only there for decoration. He huffed as he pulled out another cigarette, placed it between his lips and lit it. It was partly as a distraction to keep himself from being bored, but the main reason why he has smoked his third cigarette within one hour was because of the feeling of eyes on his back.

And those eyes belonged to the man on the opposite side of the table, Deacon.

The sniper flitted his gaze back to the agent as he smoked, but lost his nerve with keeping eye-contact when he saw that Deacon was still openly watching the sniper. MacCready tipped his hat lower over his head as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, hopefully creating some sort of barrier between them. He turned his attention back to his boss – her raised and irritated voice piqued his interest.

"Fine," Dawn huffed. "You can keep the Courser chip after you've extracted the data."

Desdemona gave her a pleased smile. "Thank you for co-operation."

"But!" Dawn interjected with an index finger pointed at the chip. "I want _all_ of the data on that chip. Everything you can find. After that, do what you want with it."

"Of course," the Railroad leader took the chip and handed it over to a jittery young man behind her. "Tinker Tom will get started on it right away. We'll let you know when it's done."

"Let me know?" Dawn scoffed, visibly displeased with how the transaction has turned out. "How long will it take to get the data?"

Desdemona shrugged as she folded her arms, her stance reflecting how the whole conversation had now bored her. "Days, weeks...we don't know." She nodded at Tinker Tom to begin, and he took her silent order with glee before delicately inspecting the chip with a peculiar set of goggles. "Deacon will find you when it's time."

Dawn narrowed her eyes at this, obvious distrust showing in her expression. "How will he know where to find me?"

An obnoxious laugh was barked across the table and everybody turned to face Deacon; who seemed amused by the notion of having his skills questioned. "Oh, trust me," he drawled. "We've crossed paths plenty. Finding you will be no problem. Although..." He tapped his chin with a finger as he mulled over his thoughts. "If you're up for a challenge, why don't _you_ try to _find me._ "

The young mercenary had enough. He stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette with a grimace, rolling his eyes before glaring at the cocky agent. "Great, we have a creepy stalker." MacCready stood up abruptly and faced Dawn. He shifted his weight on each foot in agitation, his need to get outside growing stronger. "C'mon, let's go. There's no point staying here."

He made a move for the exit but paused when he realised that Dawn was not following. She was still standing by the table, arms crossed and staring holes at Deacon.

“How long have you been following us?” She asked the agent.

Deacon gave her another amused snort. “Long enough, toots. Trust me, you’re not the easiest to follow, but it’s been fun. By the way, thanks for selling me the Pre-war tech, you drive a hard bargain. Tinker Tom had a field day with those.”

“Bunker Hill?” She confirmed.

“Eh...among other places.”

Dawn hummed in thought. She aimlessly tapped her arm as she digested this new piece of information. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again, Deacon. Thank you for your time.” She finally made a move to join MacCready near the exit, and he let Dawn pass through and walk ahead of him.

He heard Desdemona speak to Deacon in a low voice, but it wasn’t quiet enough for MacCready not to hear. “Who is Dawn's partner?” She pressed.

He could almost imagine Deacon’s smirk as he said his next words. “Robert MacCready, and he’s bad news.”

As much as he wanted to turn around and punch Deacon, he had to follow his boss outside. They were too far into the tunnels to hear the rest of the conversation, but he tried to pay it no mind as they made their journey back outside.

* * *

 

Night had fallen. MacCready and Dawn agreed to trek back to Diamond City to rest and recover, mostly for Dawn to visit a doctor, but also for the mercenary to find the courier and see if there was a reply for his intel letter.

The gates to Diamond City were guarded as usual, but passage was easily given when a guard recognised Dawn and beckoned her inside. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor as they made their way through the stands, and as soon as the market came to view Dawn turned to her hired gun and gently handed him a bag of caps.

“Payday already?” He gave her a small smile as he took the bag from her. “Thanks, I’ll meet you at the Dug Out in the morning.”

But before he could turn to leave, Dawn reached out and held on to the crook of his elbow, keeping him from walking away. “Wait,” she said as she hooked her arm fully around his. The gesture caught him off guard – a bit too close for his tastes – but he knew fully that she only held on to him to steady her tired body as they walked. “Help me to the doctors, please.”

He readily obliged as he guided her to the medical stall in the market, where Doctor Sun was busily cleaning his tools. He wrinkled his nose when the pair approached the stall, and Doctor Sun immediately put his tools away before addressing them both.

“You stink,” he grunted, shaking his head as he observed them. “What can I do for you?”

Dawn found the situation funny and coughed out a harsh laugh. She helped herself to a seat while MacCready stood idly by. “I’ve had a scuffle with the Swan in Boston Common," she began as she unbuckled her gun harness, "I was thrown into the Swan pond and I've swallowed some of the water. Pretty much been chucking up since then."

A startled look flickered on Doctor Sun's expression before he resorted back to his professional and neutral demeanour. He picked up a thermometer from a medical tray and proceeded with Dawn's inspection. "No signs of a fever," he muttered, "but I'll need to take a blood sample just in case."

She nodded in understanding, then turned to MacCready as she rifled into her pockets. "Hey, Mac. Get yourself a hot meal and help yourself to whatever at Homeplate. Don't waste your caps with a room at the inn, just take the spare bed and I'll meet you when I'm done." She handed him the key to her home before she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as Doctor Sun swabbed disinfectant into the crook of her arm.

MacCready took the key from her, puzzled with her intentions, and left her with the Doctor. He made a beeline to the end of the market, fluorescent lights flickering from above as he stood at the entrance of Dawn's home. He hesitated, the key hovering at the lock, and he considered the idea of finding the courier first before he did anything else. _No,_ he thought, perhaps it was too early before he could get a reply from the Mass Pike Interchange, so he swiftly unlocked the door and entered inside.

He activated the circuit breaker by the entrance and the whole house was illuminated with orange light. There was a closed off area in the main room – corrugated metal was held up as a makeshift privacy screen – and behind it was a tap in the wall with a drain, a metal bucket and some soap. Dawn kept spare clothes in a chest nearby, which MacCready helped himself to a pair of military pants and vest, and then proceeded with scouring off all the dirt and blood that has accumulated on his skin.

He had finished changing before Dawn finally entered. She noticed the water dripping from his wet hair, smirking at the sight, then went off to do the same. MacCready decided to busy himself by lighting up a small fire in the makeshift stove, smoking a cigarette as he did so before putting a large iron pot on top of the fire. 

"What did the doctor say?" He called out over the sounds of splashing water. He eyed some tins of canned food piled neatly on a shelf nearby, and he haphazardly took one and emptied the contents into the pot to heat up.

"He said I'll be fine," she called back. More splashing, a cough which sounded almost like a retch, and then a heavy sigh. "He gave me a shot of some kind, a drip, and some pills to get rid of the nausea." She paused. "A-Are you cooking?"

A small laugh escaped from his lips as he exhaled a puff of smoke, the mirth clouding around him as he stoked the fire. "I may know my way around guns, but that don't mean I'm lousy in the kitchen!"

"Oh really?" Her voice was muffled with the sounds of ruffled clothing as she spoke. "I just didn't take you as the domestic type. So, what's on the menu?"

"Domestic type?" He scoffed. "C'mon, cut me some slack here! I've just cooked up a delicious meal of _marinated haricots a la_ _porc_ _with sun dried tomato dressing._ "

Dawn stifled a laugh with a snort as she stepped out of the private washroom, her hands wringing the water from her wet hair. "Is that a fancy way of saying _Pork'n'Beans_?"

"Pretty much," he scooped up the said meal into a bowl and handed it to her as she walked past. "Now don't go throwing this one up. _Bon_ _appetite_ _._ "

She took it gladly, grabbing a spoon from a basket of cutlery from the table and sitting down next to him as he dished up his own meal. Dawn hummed as she slowly stirred her meal before eating a small spoonful of beans. "Where did you learn French?" She asked between bites.

He chewed his large mouthful of food, absently tapping the sides of his bowl with his fingers as he swallowed. "Knew this guy called Sinclair," he began. "He travelled all the way from Ronto, Canada. He hired me for a while, stopped working for him probably around three months before we met, but the guy constantly switched between English and French mid conversation. You kinda pick up on it after a while."

 _"_ _Combien_ _de_ _français_ _pouvez-vous_ _comprendre_ _?"_ She asked him, so fluidly she almost sounded like another person. MacCready shook his head in disbelief, digesting her words as he strained to pick up anything that sounded familiar.

"Uh, yeah. You've either said _combine the F_ _rench_ _for me to understand_ , or you're asking if I can speak French." He could feel the tips of his ears burning at his poor translation of the language. Not wanting to dwell on his failure, he steered the subject back to her. "How the heck do you know French?"

Another small laugh from Dawn, which interrupted her from eating as her spoon hovered in the space between her bowl and mouth. "I've just asked how much French you can understand," Dawn put the spoon back into her bowl, now finished with her meal. "I learned mine when I was in school. Learning another language was mandatory back then. I tried Spanish... German too, but French just sounded nicer."

"Another pre-war custom, huh?"

She hummed in response. "I guess you could say that," she shrugged. "It all sounds so frivolous, learning a language because it sounds nice, and not because of necessity or survival. You don't have that luxury today. All the things I used to be worried about, or scared of...it's all so stupid if you compare it to now."

He scooped the last of his meal into his mouth, bowl now empty, and he set it aside as he chewed in thought. Curiosity took over as he studied her expression. "What were your fears back then, and what are your fears now?"

His question caught her off guard, and Dawn stared into the fire as she mulled over her response. She shifted slightly, an idle hand tucking a wet of strand of hair behind her ear, then heaved out a very forlorn sigh. "Back then, I was scared of making bad impressions. I was..." She gestured vaguely into the air as she tried to think of the right words, "I was a people pleaser. All the time I did and said things, not because I wanted to, but because I felt like I had to hold up a good reputation. I wasn't kind, not really...I just acted and talked that way. I never confronted people because of it, and I was always taken advantage of. Regardless, I couldn't speak up for myself. I didn't want bad blood with anyone, so I just laid down and played nice and hoped that everything would blow over."

Dawn paused, but MacCready let the silence hang in the air. It was hard to think of her as a pushover, someone who didn't retaliate to insults – not with the way she has been acting towards him anyway – but he was interested to find out what her fears were now. So, he kept quiet, and waited patiently for her to answer.

"Now," she began. "Now...I'm scared of many things. Genuine fears. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared for my son. I'm... _frightened_ of not being able to get to my son in time, or at all, and if I do... will he want to take me as his mother? What if... what if I've changed into a _horrible_ person? What kind of fucked up mother will I be to him?"

The tight feeling returned to his chest as he listened. Everything she said, it all rang true to him. Duncan, the one and only thing truly important to him in this miserable wasteland worth fighting for; would he still want him as a father after leaving him in the care of someone else for so long? Would he ever be a good father to him when he returned?

Would Duncan hate him for being responsible for not saving his mother?

"What about you?" Her voice roused him from his brooding, and MacCready blinked a few times to clear his thoughts. Thinking of Duncan reminded him of his deal with the Gunners, and his mood soured as he contemplated telling Dawn the truth about his betrayal.

A lump rose in his throat, but he swallowed the confession back down.

"Ferals," he said simply as he stood up and stretched. "I'm going to bed."

He quickly strode over to the spare bed in the other side of Homeplate, away from her, away from his problems... and he seethed as one word screamed over and over at the back of his mind.

_Coward._

He was a coward. A liar. A snake.

But he would do anything to protect Duncan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoho! I knew my pathetic French skills will come in handy one day! Btw, I'm terrible at French, and I actually share Dawn's sentiments on the fact that I only learned the language because it sounded pretty. Spanish would have been easier because of my background with Tagalog, since I'm half Filipina, but what's life without regret eh?   
> Anyway, thank you once again for reading! And for those who have commented, thank you so much for your support. I love each and every one of you, and reading them really gave me the push to keep going!   
> I shall see you in the next update!


	12. Chapter 12

There was a loud knock on the door, each thud reverberating through the scrap metal walls then echoing into MacCready's skull. The tinny sounds roused him from his sleep, and he rose – groggy and tired as hell – before he shifted his legs over the sides of the bed and stretched with a yawn.

MacCready pushed a palm into his eye as he rubbed the sleep away, then leaned forward on the bed to peer around the corner. Dawn was already dressed, and she tittered as she walked up to the door and swung it open without grace.

"A letter," a voice called from outside, and MacCready saw a hand reach out with a sealed package gripped between gloved fingers. "Fifteen cap delivery fee."

Dawn quickly pulled out the caps needed from her pocket and exchanged it for the package. She closed the door, a puzzled expression on her face, and she turned to face the waking sniper.

"It's for you," she announced as she read the writing scrawled across the envelope. "What does the R. J. stand for?"

Heart suddenly pounding in his ears, he leapt out of bed and strode over to her, taking the package from Dawn's outstretched hands with more force than necessary. "My initials," he rushed in one breath and swiftly stuffed the envelope into his pocket. Dawn stared at him with wide eyes as he shoved on his boots, his laces were tied sloppily in his haste, then he placed his hat in his mouth to free his hands to shirk on his duster.

She held up her hands in an attempt to slow him down. "Whoa, what's the hurry?" Dawn was still staring at him with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, but MacCready was already at the door before she could figure out what was happening. "W-where are you going?"

"Boss, there are some things I like to keep private," he called out over his shoulder, tone clipped and low.

"Y-yeah, I get that, but when are you coming back-"

"Give me an hour." MacCready shut the door with a loud clang before she could say any more. The market was quiet in the early morning, bar his heavy footsteps as he marched over to the upper stands, and he avoided eye contact with a patrolling guard in sunglasses as the sniper manoeuvred his way to a secluded spot at the top row of the grandstands.

It was much quieter here, away from prying eyes, and he quickly scanned his immediate vicinity to check that he was truly alone before he pulled out the envelope from his pocket. With quick and precise hands, he tore open the thick envelope, discarding the brown paper to the floor as he unfolded the crinkled letter.

It took him three attempts to read the first line before it began to sink in.

_Hello Robert,_

_Emile didn't make it._

_He's been fighting the illness for nearly a year, but I guess I'm too late now. As soon as I got the codes we needed, I got a letter from his wife saying that his body finally gave up. He died peacefully in his sleep._

_He was like a brother to me._

_I tried to find you in_ _Goodneighbor_ _, but Daisy told me you're busy with new work at the moment. She said she can pass these along to you._

_Take the codes. I don't need them anymore._

_I wish you all the best for your son._

_And remember, s_ _anté_ _passe_ _richesse_ _._

_-Sinclair_

He read it again.

One more time, just to make sure.

Then he was certain. The disease can kill. Emile was a grown man, healthy and strong. And Duncan...just a little boy.

MacCready's hands were shaking as he turned the letter over, reading the carefully written codes for infiltrating Med-Tek research. Sinclair was too late for Emile, and MacCready squeezed his eyes shut as he prayed for Duncan not to succumb to the same fate.

His throat constricted as he took in a sharp breath. All of the muscles in his chest tightened and coiled as he leaned forward in his seat. The letter crumpled as he gripped it tightly in his fist, the other hand pressed hard over his eyes and every part of his being _ached_ as he sat alone in the stands.

"Not Duncan..." He hissed between his teeth, each breath burning his lungs as he willed for his erratic heart to stop beating. "Please, not him..."

He tore his head from his hands and looked up to the sky as if the heavens held answers. But the sky was a blurred mess of blue and grey – too clear for rain – and he didn't realise his tears until they were dried lines of salt down his face and neck.

Suddenly aware of his breakdown he scrubbed his hand over his face to get rid of the evidence, shame now taking over his moment of weakness. He took in a deep breath, composed and calm. He can't feel sad now. Duncan is the one suffering, not him, and he tucked the letter carefully away into his pocket before he stood up tall and slowly walked back to Homeplate.

* * *

 

They were halfway across the wooden bridge to Sanctuary before MacCready said a word.

"How long will we be here?" He asked Dawn as they trekked up towards the entrance. Dawn seemed startled at hearing his voice, he hasn't spoken to her since that morning, but she was courteous enough not to ask any questions about his sombre mood.

"We'll be here until we get the chip data from Deacon," she sighed as she waved up to the guard by the gate. "Hopefully, not for too long."

MacCready hummed at her vague answer, but he did not have the energy to object or ask more questions. Instead he trailed behind her, hat pulled low over his brow as he followed Dawn wordlessly through the settlement. Minutemen and settlers began to gather around Dawn, and MacCready by extension, so he quietly broke away from the crowd to make his way to the bunkers to rest.

"Hey, MacCready!"

He looked up without breaking stride and spotted Preston waving ahead. The minuteman was still wearing that _stupid_ _hat_ , laser musket strapped securely on his back so it was easy to reach at a moment's notice. MacCready nodded in greeting, his steps slowing to a stop as he met him halfway.

"Preston," the mercenary folded his arms as he regarded the taller man.

"Good to see you and the General are safe and sound." Preston clapped a large hand on MacCready's shoulder. "Come with me."

The sniper was reluctant to follow, but he had no choice in the matter when he was escorted to a tall metal structure built upon the old foundations of a pre-war home. Its intricacy was impressive, with wires and pipes snaking this way and that, their purpose unknown but no doubt important. Sturges was by a satellite dish as he busily tightened some screws with a large rusted spanner, too engrossed in his task to notice the two men approaching.

"Wow!" Dawn called out in awe from behind, making the sniper jump at her sudden appearance. She walked around the structure, drinking it all in as she skirted between each component. "It's bigger than I thought it would be!"

Sturges visibly puffed up with pride as he watched Dawn ogle his handiwork. "Well, it wasn't easy, let me tell ya. Had to make a few adjustments to iron out the kinks," the engineer pointed a thumb over his shoulder, the satellite dish standing proud behind him. "This one piece in particular gave me the biggest headache, but other than that, we're good to go."

Dawn beamed at him, her brown eyes bright as her smile stretched into her cheeks. MacCready had never seen her so jubilant – so full of hope – and at certain angles he could see the faint trace of a dimple forming on the left side of her cheek. "I managed to get a courser chip, but it's being decoded by some contacts," her smile flickered with nerves, almost too quick for the sniper to spot, but her façade was now back up. "We should have the codes delivered here by the end of the week, hopefully sooner."

MacCready lost interest in the conversation then, and chose to watch some settlers practice their sharpshooting in the distance as he stood idly by the chatting minutemen. The shooters were missing a lot of their marks, their task made more difficult with the light dimming with the setting sun.

"-want to eat?"

He blinked back to Dawn's voice. She was looking at him expectantly, but also with concern, and MacCready noticed that the dimple she had earlier was gone. Preston and Sturges had already walked off, both talking animatedly about something.

"Yes, Boss?" He said. He had to keep it professional. To be composed.

Dawn's concern did not shift, and she kept silent as she studied him for a few tense seconds. A sigh blew from her lips, but she kept eye contact. She looked determined to maintain that connection with him. "Mac..." Dawn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she searched for the right words. "Can we talk?"

A curt nod was his reply. "Shoot."

"No, no...I mean, in private?"

She looked hopeful, but only briefly, and uncertainty crept its way under her skin when it slowly tugged at the corners of her lips. A certain degree of guilt sank in his stomach the longer he kept her waiting, so he gave her a small smile and hoped that it was at least a bit reassuring. "Is there anything wrong?" He tried to match her concern, but he felt stilted – patronizing more so – but the small lift in her smile proved he was successful.

"I'm fine," she waved him off with a gesture. "C'mon, let's go for a walk."

Dawn beckoned MacCready to follow with a quick nod, and he strolled up next to her as they ambled around the edge of Sanctuary. They lapsed into silence as they travelled to the back of the settlement, with Dawn taking care to pick a route with the least amount of chance to come across another person. There was a small bridge which crossed over a dried-up riverbed – a section of Sanctuary which MacCready never realised was there – and only when they crossed it did Dawn begin to speak again.

"Tell me the truth." Her voice wavered with anxiety. "I know that something is wrong, but is there something I can do to help you?"

He rolled his eyes and scoffed before he could stop himself. "Boss, there are many things wrong."

"Like what?"

"Nothing you can fix." 

He didn't mean to sound so cold – so _bitter –_ especially towards her, but with his head so full of conflicting thoughts it was hard to discern exactly which to act on. Despite the turmoil, one thing was clear. 

Dawn looked hurt at his outburst.

She blinked slowly – disbelievingly – and all traces of her previous confidence was gone. Now...she seemed tired. Dawn was so emotionally exhausted, he thought she would turn around and stomp away. But she didn't, she stayed and took in a steady breath as she looked up at him with those wide brown eyes.

"Mac, please," she stepped closer, "I know I can't fix everything, but let me at least _try._ "

It was tense once again between them, both unsure of what to do next, but Dawn spoke up again before the silence could stretch any longer. "Listen, I'm sorry if I'm a lot of work," her voice shook as she started her apology. "If it's about your pay, I can give you more caps. I've never needed the help of a mercenary before, so I don't know how these sorts of things work. Or if it's my recklessness, then I promise to not put us in too much danger next-"

"Dawn, stop," he quickly placed his hands on her shoulders to stop her from saying more. "You're doing fine, trust me."

The anxiety still hung around her, but her attention was focused on him. "Then why does it feel like I'm always doing something wrong? Mac, maybe I'm not the right employer for you, you don't seem happy in my company and it feels like I'm keeping you away from something – or _someone –_ important."

He shook his head, and _God_ her compassion was _killing him,_ but out of impulse he squeezed her shoulders and _really_ looked at her. "You're not the problem," he really wanted to tell her the truth, tell her the _real reason_ but he couldn't bring himself to really show his true colours.

"Then what is the problem?"

His throat was thick when he swallowed. "It's my son."

This shared piece of information, one which he tried to keep secret from her, it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest. Dawn’s eyes flickered over his face at this small confession, her gaze so intense it almost felt like he had his whole life story written on his skin. She took in a steady breath, and asked, “You have a son?"

"Yes,” and the words were tumbling out of his mouth with reckless abandon. “His name is Duncan. He's sick a-and I don't know what's wrong with him. One thing he was playing out in the fields behind our farm, then all of a sudden he had this horrible fever and started breaking out in these blue boils and... and he's growing weaker and weaker every day."

"Mac, why didn't you tell me this sooner?” She stepped back, folding her arms as she paused in thought. She looked torn, _broken_ , and so guilty he didn’t know how to react.  “I wouldn't have kept you if I knew. You need to go and see him, or find a doctor, or-"

"Every Doctor I’ve gone to was useless.” He could feel his anger rising, straining his voice and burning his chest. “They've never even heard of the disease! No, I'm not giving up on him!"

It was her turn to stop him. Gentle hands held his arms from flailing in anger, and she still looked at him, an act so patient it grounded him back to a certain degree of calm. “Where is he Mac?”

“He’s staying with a friend up in the Capital Wasteland.”

“Capital...You mean DC?” She released him, voice wavering. “Oh God, that’s so far away. Wow, that’s...I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course you do. You’re goin' to tell me how _cruel_ it is to leave him behind!”

Dawn blanched at the presumption, her mouth opening and shutting over the loss of words. “What? No! God no!" She dragged a hand through her hair, pushing it back as she clenched her jaw. "Mac, you obviously have your reasons! Shit...I knew you had things on your mind, but...this must have been eating you up. I’m so sorry.”

He could only give her a hard stare, but he felt guilty for snapping at her again, so he looked down to the floor and scuffed his boots into the ground as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Why couldn't he keep his cool with her? He couldn't believe his loss of control – his gumption – for pushing her away despite her clear efforts of trying to help him.

_God, I am such an asshole._

No. He was going to be a better person. Dawn is different. She has never outright disrespected him during their travels. If anything, she was always kind and patient with him, and treating her any less was an insult to the promise he made to Duncan.

A slow inhale through his nose, then he met her gaze as he tilted his head back up.

“Remember our conversation last night?" He kept his voice low. He had to be gentle from now on. "I told you about Sinclair. Well, he’s travelled here for the same reason. He has... _h_ _ad_ a friend called Emile, and he got the same thing as Duncan. The letter I got this morning was from Sinclair, with codes to Med-Tek Research and...”

He couldn't finish the sentence. A heavy fog of denial hung in the air, and he couldn't push through to tell her the possibility of his son dying from the same affliction Emile had. But Dawn was patient, and the look in her eyes told him that she had at least acknowledged what he was trying to say.

“This Emile guy, i-is he?” She skirted around the subject.

“No, he didn’t make it.”

Then she hummed as she crossed her arms. There was something in her demeanour, something in the way that her shoulders squared as she looked to the distance in thought. Her softness had gone, now replaced with a steely resolve when she determinedly faced the sniper once more.

Her speech was harder, authoritative, when she asked “What can we find at Med-Tek?”

“We’re not certain, but Sinclair researched heavily into it. There’s word of a cure which was tested out pre-war. We scouted the place out, but the place was crawling with ferals." He shuddered at the memory. "Plus, we didn’t have the right codes to get through the security.”

“But you have 'em now?” She pressed. "The codes?"

“Yeah.”

She nodded. Dawn beckoned him to follow her back to Sanctuary, her mind made up as she walked with driven strides. She called over her shoulder without slowing pace, “I know where Med-Tek is. Get some food and rest. We're going there first thing tomorrow.”

He reeled when he realised Dawn was planning to go with him. None of this was supposed to involve her, and his speech was rushed as he protested her decision. “N-no! I can get there fine by myself- “

“You told me last night that your greatest fear was feral ghouls." She stopped in her tracks so suddenly he nearly bumped into her. But with the determination in her eyes, so ingrained and resolute, he couldn't find it in himself to object. "I’m not letting you go through that on your own.”

There were no words.

He couldn't move – couldn't even _bring_ himself to say something – and his head spun when he realised he had forgotten to breathe.

MacCready licked his lips, hands shaking when he pulled them back out of his pockets and his arms hung awkwardly down his sides. The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile, tentative, but genuine. 

His voice was almost a whisper when he spoke loud enough only for Dawn to hear.

_“Thank you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD! FINALLY, SOME FEELINGS! 
> 
> Have another chapter. Been in bed doing nothing but typing. I have been so ill the past few days with (what I think is) the flu. It wasn't pleasant. Thought that chocolate could cure this hell. It didn't. Still in hell. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you once again for reading this mess of a fic! If you want updates, snippets, (or a snapshot of the emotional train wreck that is my life) then you can also follow me on Tumblr under LadyPazlet. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you once again to all of you who commented! I love you all so much!!!


	13. Chapter 13

He couldn't sleep the night before. Despite his exhaustion, his feet moved entirely on their own as the Med-Tek Research facility loomed closer on the horizon. Dawn took point, donned in a new set of road leathers and a different arsenal of weapons strapped to each holster. A combat shotgun, frag grenades and a heavily modded 10mm pistol was her choice of weapons; all of which are suitable for combat at close range or for crowd control.

MacCready still had his rifle, but the Minutemen were kind enough to let him have a laser pistol to back him up if he ever found himself in a pinch. His duster was left in Sanctuary – it had too much loose material – so he swapped it with a drifter jacket which Dawn had suggested he should wear. It was a better fit for his frame, _less material to get grabbed with,_ a thought which both eased and terrified him.

He made sure to stash his carved soldier into the front pocket, its presence reminding him to stay strong for Duncan.

Dawn stopped ahead, scanning the area around her, before she turned around and pointed at the building before her. She waited as MacCready strode up to her, and they both regarded the Med-Tek facility ahead.

"You said you've scouted the place before," she said, voice low. "What did you find?"

"Ferals," he said as he nodded to the parking lot beside them. "They'll be sluggish during the day, so the ones in the parking lot shouldn't give us much trouble. But the place is on lockdown since before the war, Sinclair and I couldn't get through the security at the time...but they were everywhere when we tried."

She nodded as she took in the information. "How are you when you're up close with 'em?"

He let out a reluctant sigh. "Not great to be honest." There was no use lying to her about it, not with what's at stake. "The closer they are, the more my hands shake."

Dawn was tactful however, and didn't press for more. "I'll be the one up front. I'm gonna be making a lot of noise, so they'll swarm after me. I need you to pick them off from a distance and watch my back," she pulled out her shotgun and clicked off the safety latch, "Catch up to me when it's clear."

He was comfortable with that – though comfort was very subjective in this case – but not having to be up close to them...he was actually grateful. "Sounds good, Boss."

Plan now set, MacCready found higher ground and watched Dawn from his vantage point. There were a few dormant ferals scattered around the entrance, but with so many cars and debris around it was hard to discern exactly how many could potentially be hiding. Three began to amble towards her, two which Dawn easily dispatched with her shotgun, the third he sniped from a distance.

True to her word, each pull of the trigger made the area boom with the sounds of her shotgun, and more roused from their slumber and dashed straight for her. She scattered them with her gun, keeping them at bay, and he picked off the stragglers nearby.

The area was clear after that, and he sprinted to join her at the entrance.

Dawn was sweating, flecks of blood and viscera now staining her clothes and dotted around her skin, but she was at least uninjured. She looked at him, checking for signs of injury, then gave him a quick pat on his arm. "You okay?"

He nodded and made a move to the door, but he hesitated with pushing the door open. His hands hovered over the handle, unsure of why his body was so unwilling to enter. Dawn sensed his uneasiness and placed her own hand on top of his, then gently guided it to the handle. As soon as the cold metal made contact with his skin he regained control of his body, and he opened the door with caution.

The foyer was dim and dusty, but the there was still power within the building to light up the interior. He recognised the spent rounds on the floor from his previous visit with Sinclair. A few decaying bodies were strewn across some furniture, most of them were riddled with the familiar wounds only his .308 rounds would cause.

"So..." Dawn shifted up beside him as she scanned the area. "Where to next?"

He immediately made his way to a corridor ahead, laser pistol at the ready. "There's an executor's terminal in one of the offices. We can enter the codes and get the lockdown security lifted from there," he ran the back of his hand over his brow, the sweat wiped from his skin. "I hope Sinclair's information pays off..."

Dawn overtook him, mindful of their previous plan, and she stormed ahead with her shotgun as she killed every ghoul she came across. He was glad she did – he felt useless in narrow spaces – and Dawn had more control with keeping the both of them safe with her choice of weapons.

"It's the door on the left!" He called out the directions from behind her, guiding her during their raid. She made a quick turn left and immediately set herself to work with picking the lock. The lock gave without effort, and Dawn smirked when she opened the door.

MacCready spotted the terminal as soon as he stepped into the office. "It's this one right here," he confirmed under his breath as he pulled out Sinclair's letter. He strained his eyes under the dim lights as he booted up the terminal, and he sat patiently on the chair as it loaded up.

But he couldn't bring himself to concentrate. The words on screen seemed to jump and blur and his hands trembled too much for him to press in the right keys.

"Here," Dawn gently pried the letter from his hands, scanning over its contents before she reached out over him and typed in all of the necessary codes. She knew what she was doing, that much was for certain, and he trusted her with the letter as she navigated through each screen and section. The option to lift the security protocols appeared on screen, and that was when Dawn pulled away to give MacCready a small squeeze on his shoulder. "I've highlighted the command, just press the Enter key to initialize it."

He faced her, unsure of what to say, and she gave him an encouraging smile before she nodded to the screen. He pressed the key, and the screen shifted. A loading bar, then a climbing percentage appeared underneath. One hundred percent reached, and the monitor flashed with a message.

_"ALERT CANCELLED"_

A huge sigh of relief escaped from his lips as he stood up. "Thank God that worked," he said, more to himself than to Dawn, and they quickly retraced their steps to the airlock on the floor below. 

Dawn was unbelievably quick as she typed on the airlock terminal. Her hands glided over the keys and before long the shutters for the airlock slid open with a metallic scrape. She stormed through, and MacCready followed close behind, but they quickly dove to the side as soon as they entered another office. The tell-tale beeps of a turret echoed around the room, and then they were assaulted with laser fire from the end of the hallway. Luckily the desk they were hiding behind was strong enough to supress each shot, but they couldn't stay behind cover forever. 

"Mac! Shoot the turret!" Dawn ordered as she reloaded her shotgun. He smirked, not needing to be told twice, and he quickly rose from behind the desk.

Target in the crosshair. Trigger pulled. Then sparks exploded where the turret used to be.

The grin reached his eyes as he stood up straight, but his victory was short lived when feral ghouls began to pile out of the labs. He shot as many as he could, but he still had to rely on Dawn with keeping them back.

She unpinned a frag grenade from her utility belt and threw it at the swarm, and the pair ducked back behind the desk. The explosion created a wave of pressure which pressed against his ears, and when MacCready made a quick peek above the desk he saw the gory aftermath ahead.

"Let's keep moving," Dawn coughed through the smoke as she sprang back into action. She entered one of the labs, flitting between terminals as she searched through every conceivable file for any clues on Med-Tek's research. Occasionally she would pause, reading some entries with deep thought, and then took notes on a small notepad she carried in her pocket. 

MacCready looked over her shoulder to read whatever she was jotting down, curious to its contents, but her handwriting was entirely illegible. There were a series of lines and squiggles, all of which she wrote down within seconds. Dawn noticed his interest, so she lifted the pad so he could see it more clearly.

"It's shorthand," she explained. "Anyway, there's a lot of references of a cure being tested in a lab on the lowest level. We'll probably find what you're looking for down there."

The notepad was then placed carefully back in her pocket. Dawn tilted her head as she beckoned the sniper to follow her as they descended deeper into the facility.

But the further they travelled, the more the layout changed. There were handcuffs scattered with medical equipment. Straight-jackets were shoved amongst security batons. Then, there were row upon rows of glass rooms which were lined up against the walls, the feral inhabitants still ambling behind the observation glass.

It wasn't a research centre any more. 

It was a medical prison.

Thankfully all of the rooms were locked, so each ghoul could only bang on the glass with futility as the pair walked by. There was a security section at the far end of the room, a working terminal was propped up on the desk, and Dawn quickly booted it up as she read through the files.

"Oh my God," she muttered under her breath and quickly started drawing in her notepad.

He was curious, so he went up to her to see what she had discovered. "What did you find?"

Her eyes flitted up to meet him before she concentrated back to drawing. "It's a map of the place. I'm just drawing a route so we can get to where we need to go quickly." Drawing complete, she snapped the pad shut. But Dawn became cautious when she eyed a hallway on the bottom tier of the cell-block.

He followed her gaze, and his heart sank when he saw the hallway had caved in with debris.

MacCready made a low whistle through his teeth. "Guess that way is out of the question."

But Dawn pressed on ahead and walked right up to the cell above it. The cell was empty, and Dawn peeked through the glass and spotted something on the floor. "The floor has caved in too. We can drop down to the hallway through here," she grits her teeth as she stepped back. Her shotgun now ready, she sprayed the glass with two shots.

The whole cell block echoed with noise, agitating the imprisoned ferals into a frenzy, but the glass was only scratched. Dawn bit her lip at her wasted effort. "Shit. The glass won't break. Trust Med-Tek to go overboard when it comes to prisoner security..."

Realizing her failure, she surveyed the room. MacCready jumped when a ghoul violently threw itself against the cell glass with a wet thud, and the mercenary stepped away from the window for good measure before he faced Dawn.

"Let me see if I can hack the doors to open it," she huffed before she stomped back to the office with the security terminal propped up inside. He picked his way around the atrium, looking for alternatives, but he lost his nerve and decided to join her, uncomfortable with being alone.

"Any success?" He pressed as he eyed the cell with a twitching withered ghoul within, not quite trusting himself with showing his back to them. Dawn released another frustrated chuff as she typed away on the keys, each press harder than necessary.

Dawn stood back up straight, eyeing him fully to study his reaction. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" 

His lips formed a tight line at her words. "Give it to me straight, Boss."

Dawn mimicked his look – she wasn't thrilled either – and then she readied her weapon with a tight grip. "I can disengage the locks." Her expression then turned grave. "But I can't just unlock one. _All_ of them will be open."

_Shit._

He could feel his hands begin to shake, and his heart began to beat painfully against his rib cage. He counted the cells and the irradiated occupants held inside, each one of them groaning and scratching against the glass, ravenous and enraged. 

"We'll be overwhelmed," he could hear his voice crack at the prediction. "There's probably eleven in total. I also spotted two stalkers, plus a wither. Those ones will be harder to kill."

Dawn could only shake her head. He noticed the skin on her knuckles were white, the vice grip on her shotgun the only indication of her discomfort. "I can get these doors closed," she pointed at the dual doors to the security office with the stock of her gun, "It's the best I can do. At least we can pick them off through the window without them getting to us. That way you can still keep your distance."

MacCready considers the overlooking window, regarding the web-like cracks across its surface. He tapped at the window experimentally, checking if any of the shards gave way, then he held on to his weapon and drove the butt of his rifle through the glass. It shattered, the glass splintering away and raining down to the floor below. He nodded at Dawn in wordless agreement, and she took his signal to start typing on the terminal.

The security doors began to close, shutting the both of them inside. A loud metallic screech resounded from the door nearest to MacCready, and it halted three quarters of the way through the frame. Dawn swore under her breath as she strode up to it, testing its strength as she tried to slide it shut. It didn't budge.

"Okay..." She sighed. "New plan. We can shoot through the window _and_ the gap in the door." She tried to slide her body through the crevice, but the gap was too small for her to fit. "At least the only thing they can fit through here are their arms. They shouldn't be able to get to us."

MacCready took note to keep an eye on the gap in case one does manage to slip through. "Go ahead Boss." He could feel the blood rushing through his ears.

Then Dawn pressed a few more keys on the terminal, and she closely watched MacCready as the security alarms blared over the intercom. The whole area dimmed when the emergency lighting activated, sirens and flashing lights causing their adrenaline to spike. The familiar hiss of multiple doors echoed around them, and the pitter patter of feet slapped against the messy floor as two ghouls exited their centuries old prison.

MacCready shot them without hesitation, his aim deadly and sure, and between him and Dawn they picked off two more. But the rest of the ghouls stayed in their cells.

The pair waited. Each of them watching the cell doors should the inhabitants step out. But there was a lull – and the suspense was just _killing him –_ as they both lie in wait.

"Why are they not coming?" He asked, though he knew full well she would not know the answer.

"Hm, I dunno, Mac. Maybe they're waiting for their ticket to be called before they could come to the window!" Dawn grit her teeth as she forced out her remark. "The hell should I know?"

But her quip made him laugh, easing him a small degree. "Wow, I didn't know sarcasm was part of your growing set of skills. You learned that pre-war too?"

She sucked some air through her teeth. "No," she spat, "I've just been spending too much time around this smart mouthed sniper I hired."

"Oh really?" MacCready's chuckle deepened. "He sounds like an amazing guy. You should introduce us sometime."

He flitted his gaze over to her, watching her expression during their exchange. Dawn was smirking, clearly amused, but he didn't know why he felt disappointed when he didn't see that tell-tale dimple on her left cheek.

"Here they come!" She clenched her jaw and he followed her line of sight.

All of the remaining ghouls stormed out of their cells at once, and they all made a beeline towards the gap in the door. They crowded around the opening, arms flailing as they tried to make a grab for the pair inside.

Dawn moved away from her spot near the window and sprayed them with her shotgun. They screeched and gurgled in anguish, some dropping to the floor, the rest closing in on their frenzy.

"I need to reload!" Dawn shouted as she pulled back, and MacCready took over as he swapped to his laser pistol. There were too many limbs reaching through the opening – preventing him from getting a clear shot of their head or torso – and he rapidly fired to try and keep them at bay.

The door shuddered.

Then it scraped open an inch, more limbs and rotting flesh as they started to fit more of their bodies through the breach.

"Shit!" Dawn abandoned her shotgun and it clattered to the ground. She pressed her whole body against the door, her boots scraping as she fought for purchase, and she scrambled as she tried to fight against them from opening it further. A reaver managed to reached her arms and violently pulled Dawn towards the opening, and she flailed with a cry as more of them grabbed her.

And he wasn't there anymore. 

He was back at the metro station.

Duncan was gripped tightly in his arms and he was crying so loud. Lucy was in front. And she was _screaming._ A sound so harrowing – so _gut wrenching_ – and all he could do was watch helplessly as her skin was torn like paper. 

There were arms, rotten and decayed and _wrong_ and they were pulling her away as they pulled her apart and _she just kept on screaming._

She was dying. She was in pain.

And Lucy did not deserve to die like this.

Duncan held securely with one arm, Lucy's pistol in the other, he lifted up the weapon and told himself that it would be kinder to not let her suffer.

But he can't.

His hands shook too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13, I timed this one section so that it would specifically land on number 13 ohohohohoho! I'm gonna go and cry in a corner now! 
> 
> I've always felt a bit unsatisfied with MacCready's backstory when it came to that fateful night. I know Bethesda likes to leave some things open, but his storyline has always been a bit vague if you ask me. So, I thought I'd expand his potential a little more than what we see in game, because losing a spouse like that would really emotionally scar you, especially if it happened when you are young. 
> 
> Poor Sad Dad. 
> 
> Okay, quick announcement, but updates will be a bit slow until further notice. The next few months will be incredibly busy as there are a few family things going on, but I'll try to delegate time to write the next set of chapters when I can. I'm so sorry to leave this on such a horrible cliff hanger! Especially when... ya know... "the feels" finally made an appearance. 
> 
> Thank you so much once again for reading! New readers, welcome! I love you! Old readers, I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING THIS QUICK ENOUGH! But I also love you. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting me through this mess! 
> 
> I'll see you in the next update!


	14. Chapter 14

It must be a nightmare. 

It has to be. 

Skin and flesh and meat and bones and they were _everywhere_ . It was _her._ All of it was. She used to hold him together and now she's torn apart. MacCready's heart was ripped to shreds, yet he could hear it beating so violently in his ears. 

 _"Look at me!"_  

He was. Lucy was staring back at him, but she was screaming. 

 _"Mac!"_  

Duncan was crying so loud in his arms, but the weight of the pistol in his other hand felt heavier. His finger toyed with the trigger as he lifted it up- 

"Look at me, Mac!" 

He was looking into her eyes. They did not belong to Lucy. 

"That's it, eyes on me, Mac!" 

Then everything rushed back to him.  

Dawn was breathing heavily as she kicked at the flailing ghouls, dislodging their grip on her arm and then she was free. The door scraped open a little further but Dawn scrambled back and she shoved against it with a grunt. She twisted to face MacCready as she pushed. 

His stomach dropped when he couldn't feel Duncan's weight in his arms, and he whipped his head around to search where he was. Then he remembered himself, and his hand shot up to his chest and he felt the familiar bump of the wooden soldier in his jacket pocket. 

"Get my shotgun!" Dawn yelled over the shrieking ghouls. She kicked the weapon and the gun slid to his feet. "Do it!" 

It was like electricity had suddenly shocked him back into existence, his body responding fluidly to his commands. He crouched down quickly and scooped the shotgun from the ground, making a dash for the door. A feral ghoul poked their head amongst the sea of limbs – eyes vacant and teeth gnashing – and MacCready stomped it back with a powerful kick before he lifted the gun. 

The roar of each blast grounded him. He didn't care if his hands shook. He didn't care if their blood sprayed into the air like a red mist, sticking to his clothes, sticking to his skin.  

Relentless – and _enraged_ – he kept firing. Stray buckshot fell to the ground like rain, bouncing off the walls, joining the bloodshed. Before long the shells were spent, now replaced with the laser pistol, and he shot blinding streaks of fire at the remaining onslaught. 

Then there were only corpses, piled on the floor or in pieces around them. 

MacCready was still staring down the gap. More might be coming. He was breathing hard and his whole body trembled but _he was vigilant_ . He was _always_ vigilant and he must make sure he is prepared when they come back. 

But Dawn carefully stepped in front, diligently watching his reaction, and she placed her palm on top of his pistol and slowly lowered it. 

"They're dead, Mac." Her voice sounded so far away. But she coaxed the pistol further down until his arms were limp by his sides. "Take a breather." 

MacCready stood there, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm down. Every part of his body trembled, but it was subsiding, and he took in deep breaths as he willed himself to stay in control. Dawn started typing on the terminal, and when the doors hissed open he bolted out of the confined security room on instinct. 

He reached the middle of the atrium before he leaned on the railings, head hanging low and eyes squeezed shut as he tried to clear his head. He was closer than he ever was to reaching the cure for Duncan. He can't let his moment of weakness hinder him from reaching that goal. 

He was in control. 

 _I got this..._  

Dawn's footsteps echoed as she slowly ambled up to him, and he raised his head when he felt Dawn place a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

"You ready?" She asked, tone soft as she gave him a small smile, and he nodded in reply. "Let's go." 

They both made their way to the open cell in the corner and dropped down to the corridor below. None of them said a word, weapons raised and ready to fire as they turned each corner. Dawn stopped to check her notepad, then she pointed ahead to direct him towards a working elevator. 

MacCready stepped in the car and stood to the side, Dawn shifting up beside him, and they kept silent as the platform travelled down to the lowest floor. The panelled doors slid open, the air stale and musty as they both moved out onto the lobby. 

"Smells horrible," he grimaced as he breathed in the dust, "We're probably the only ones who've been here for a long time." 

He heard the familiar trill of a turret, and he quickly shot it before it could fully initialize. The resounding gunfire caused a disturbance in the room ahead, and he stilled when the cries of more feral ghouls echoed from the darkness. 

Dawn's Pip-Boy started clicking, the inbuilt Geiger counter alerting them of the presence of radiation. She swore under her breath as she immediately silenced the alert. There was a lull in the air as they both stood still, listening intently for any signs of the disturbed ghouls, but it unsettled them when they couldn't hear them anymore. 

"The cure is probably going to be in the lab ahead," Dawn said in hushed whispers. "There's more ferals, too." 

He swallowed audibly as he stared into the darkness, straining his eyes as he tried to pick out the silhouettes of any potential enemy. "What's the plan?" He prompted, voice unsteady. 

Dawn paused in thought before she spoke up. "I'm the only one with a working light. You stay here and watch my back while I draw them to out." She turned to face him, eyes narrowed and lips set in a straight line. "I'm counting on you, Mac. Keep your eyes on me if you feel like you're slipping. Don't look at them, look at me, got it?" 

He nodded and Dawn immediately took off. She set her Pip-Boy to the highest brightness, lighting up her immediate vicinity with a green glow, and she fired one shot of her gun to make noise. 

It worked, and ferals were roused from the darkness and stalked towards Dawn like a pack of hungry dogs. She kept them away with the spray of her shotgun, aiming for their legs and torso to keep them back, and MacCready took care of the remaining ghouls that were incapacitated or if they strayed too close to Dawn's back. 

It was like he was on auto-pilot, running on pure instinct alone, and he almost had forgotten himself when his gun clicked dry before he took the initiative to reload. Empty shells clinked to the ground as he fired more shots, Dawn's shotgun booming away ahead, and he watched her every move as she fought off the last of them. 

He sighed in relief, thanking whatever God that it was finally over, but another green glow caught his eye. It was huge – bloated and festering with radiation – and it was going straight for Dawn. 

"Glowing one!" He yelled out in warning as he aimed for its legs. Dawn shot at its chest, but it didn't break stride as it swiped at her. 

She was knocked off her feet, and Dawn landed on the ground with a grunt before she scrambled back. He emptied a round on its thigh, and the glowing ghoul howled as it stumbled to the side, but it recovered and threw itself on top of Dawn.  

"Get off me!" She roared with vehemence as she pushed it away. Flecks of irradiated blood dripped onto her clothes, the spatter glowing in the darkness, and Dawn struggled with a growl as she fought and pushed against it. 

MacCready bolted towards the ghoul and tackled it off her. It gurgled, its growls wet and laboured as it snapped its jaws at the mercenary, and MacCready kicked it before it rolled off him. He stood between it and Dawn, taking out the laser pistol and shooting it repeatedly in the head. 

Burning flesh and glowing smoke. MacCready's stomach churned as he shot it again for good measure, and when the glowing ghoul stayed still he deemed it safe enough to turn his back to it. He crouched down to check up on Dawn, wiping off some irradiated blood from her forehead as he inspected her for any obvious injury.  

Dawn pushed him away with a huff, brows furrowed as she shakily picked herself up from the floor. "I'm fine," she groused, "Just look for the cure." 

His jaw clenched as he stepped back. Dawn preoccupied herself with flicking off dust and blood from her face before she strode up to a terminal to the side. She busily typed away on the keyboard, reading its contents in silence, and MacCready took the hint to not talk to her for a while. He busied himself with inspecting the lab, searching through fridges and cupboards as he tried to find anything that could help Duncan's condition. 

"Mac," Dawn called, eyes not leaving the screen, "It says that they store samples of a serum called _Prevent_ in the far cooler." She stood up straight and turned to face the container in question. "There's records on here, says that the serum was successful with curing a patient. The symptoms described them breaking out in boils from an auto-immune disease." 

His heart jumped up to his throat, and immediately he picked his way to the cooler at the end of the lab. It was a steel container, the hinges crusted with rust, but he pried it open and cautiously peeked inside. 

There it was.  

Only one syringe remained in the cooler, covered in a protective red seal and the words _Med-_ _Tek_ _PREVENT_ printed on the side. He reached in and held it, not quite trusting his hands as he stared at the syringe in disbelief. 

Dawn managed to find a small container, already filled with tissues, and MacCready placed it carefully inside the box before he clicked the lid shut. He held the box with an iron grip, careful not to crush it but also not wanting to let it go. 

She gave him a quick clap on the back, shocking him back to reality. "C'mon," she said over her shoulder as she quickly made her way back to the elevator. 

And he followed her. 

He made sure to watch her back as he walked, hoping that this was not a dream. 

* * *

 

The familiar neon signs above the entrance of Goodneighbor lit up the dark alleyway as they trekked through the ruined city. MacCready checked his wristwatch – nearly midnight – then broadened his stride to get to Daisy's shop before it closed. 

Dawn hobbled up beside him, startled by his increase in pace, but she kept quiet as she patiently followed her hired gun. He spotted Daisy as she was busily wiping the counter, making her last bit of preparations before she closed up shop, but the ghoul faltered with her task when she saw MacCready making his way to her. 

"Well, look who it is. I haven't seen you in a while, was beginning to think you were avoiding me!" Daisy greeted, black eyes shining bright under the flickering lights, but concern deepened her scarred features when she saw the pair covered in dust and blood. "What happened to you?" 

"Thank God you're here!" His words tumbled from his lips in a rush. "It's been a long day. Besides, how could I avoid someone as cute as you, Daisy." 

Dawn snorted from behind him – he heard her mutter an indiscreet " _such a_ _flirt"_ – but he chose to ignore her as he reached into his pocket. Daisy seemed amused as he carefully placed the box on the counter, and the ghoul stared at it with an unreadable expression. 

"You're a lousy liar," Daisy began as she carefully picked up the box, "But I'll play stupid and pretend I don't know that. Anyway, what have you got here for me?" 

MacCready swallowed thickly. "I found it Daisy. That's the cure to Duncan's disease." 

Her head shot up, hands stilling from her inspection. Her mouth opened and closed as she was at loss for words, but she recovered as she cleared her throat. "Oh my God! Robert, that's...that's wonderful news!" Daisy immediately got to work with wrapping up the box in a sturdier package, taking care not to jostle the box too much. "How did you do it? Last time you tried, the ferals almost chewed you to bits." 

His heart jumped when he remembered the last time he stormed Med-Tek with Sinclair, but he took off his hat and ran a hand through his messy hair as he tried to shake the feeling away. "I didn't do it alone," he breathed, casting a sideways glance at his employer, "My friend here got me through Med-Tek." 

Daisy turned her attention to his companion, flashing her a grateful smile as she gave Dawn an approving nod. "Hello again," she gave the vault-dweller a small wave, "I didn't recognise you there. You're usually hiding your face with that assault mask of yours." 

Dawn tucked her hair behind her ear as she gave Daisy a sheepish look. "I, uh, I lost the mask a few weeks ago. Figured I could top up my suntan." 

The ghoul rasped out a small laugh before facing the sniper. She patted the package before placing it behind the counter. "Don't worry, Robert. I'll get this to Duncan safely, I promise." 

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. "You're a doll." 

Daisy waved him off, clearly not the one for sentiments, but she beckoned Dawn over before leaning on the counter. "Do me a favor," she said, giving Dawn a quick wink as she spoke. "Take care of MacCready for me. He's one of the good ones." 

Dawn remained silent, but she nodded in understanding. MacCready felt the tips of his ears heat up at their exchange, but he hid his discomfort by pulling on his hat lower over his brow. The pair waved their goodbye's before making their way to the Rexford, their steps slow and relaxed as they walked. 

"I feel disgusting," Dawn groaned as she picked off a fleck of blood from her sleeve. But MacCready didn't care. He felt lighter, almost like a different person, and he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face as relief washed over him. "What are you smiling at?" 

He shrugged, not quite knowing how to answer that question.  

He wordlessly put down some caps on the table when they reached the reception of the Rexford, and Clair gave him a key to their room before she pattered off to berate Fred for tweaking on the sofa. 

"I'm gonna go for a bath," Dawn sighed before walking off to the communal bathroom in the basement, and MacCready went on ahead to their room. 

It was the same room as the last time they were here. He put down all of his weapons on the bed before her shirked off his jacket. His hat was haphazardly thrown on the patched-up couch, and he kicked off his boots before he filled up the wall sink with water. He set to work with washing away the blood and grime from his face and arms, and Dawn entered the room while he was rinsing out his hair over the sink. 

"The water is freezing," she muttered through chattering teeth. MacCready gave her a small grunt as he splashed more water over his face, at least acknowledging her presence. He heard her huff, and he looked around to see Dawn shaking her head at the guns on strewn across the bedsheets. "You take the bed, since your stuff is already on it." 

MacCready pulled the plug, the dirty water draining noisily through the pipes, and he ran a hand over his beard. It was a while since he shaved, the scruff now too long for his liking, and he pulled out a razor from one of the drawers before feeling around his face. There wasn't a mirror in this particular room, and he turned to Dawn as she made herself comfortable on the couch. 

"D'you have a mirror?" He asked, but he felt disheartened when she shook her head. 

"No, why?" She sat up, curious as she watched him. 

"It's nothing," he waved a hand as he filled up the sink once more. "Was gonna neaten things up a bit, but I can just shave it all off instead." 

"Hold up," Dawn stood up and stepped up beside him. He stepped back from the proximity, but she rolled her eyes at his reaction. "Let me do it." 

He looked at her incredulously, unsure of whether or not he could trust her with such a task. "You sure?" MacCready wanted to at least make sure she knew what she was doing, but Dawn chuckled at his doubts. 

"Don't worry," she took the razor from his hands and immediately got to work with lathering some stale soap into a decent foam. "When Nate came back from the war, his hands shook uncontrollably at random moments. It was...difficult to watch." Foam now in hand, she slowly spread it over his cheeks. "He couldn't do a lot of simple things for himself whenever it happened. Damn near shredded himself when he tried to shave one morning. So, I offered to do it for him when his hands refused to work." 

He kept still as he let her take hold of his chin, and the blade slowly scraped over his cheek. Not quite comfortable with the silence, he wet his lips before speaking. "Were there a lot of wars back then? Y'know, before the _Great_ _W_ _ar_ I mean." 

She hummed as she rinsed the blade in the sink. "A few. Nate was posted out to Alaska during the Battle of Anchorage," she returned to MacCready, gentle hands holding his chin once more. "Hasn't been the same since." She sighed, hands stilling, but she collected herself and carried on. "Look at me." 

 _Look at me._  

That distant look returned to her features, and MacCready watched her as she concentrated on the grooves of his neck. He could see very faint freckles on the bridge of her nose, and his face immediately grew hot when he realised that he was staring at her for too long. She met his gaze, a small smile turning the corner of her lips, and she quickly slid a stray lock of hair behind her ear before continuing her task. 

The silence was killing him, and he felt self-conscious of whether Dawn could feel the heat of his face through her hands. _Just say anything,_ he told himself, anything to make the silence less awkward. 

But Dawn spoke first. "When will you be leaving?" 

His Adams apple bobbed as he choked on his words. He pulled back, away from Dawn's outreached hands. "Leaving?" He searched her face as he tried to read her expression. "W-why do you think I'll be leaving?" 

Dawn faltered before she forcibly took hold of his chin again, scraping off any leftover foam from the other side of his face. "Don't you want to be with your son?" She asked, but paused when MacCready shook his head. 

"Don't get me wrong, Boss." He shrugged with a sigh. "I want to go and see him, I really do, but I still got a job to do." 

"My job?" She groused. "Mac, I don't want to keep you away from him." 

"No- yeah...but," he cleared his throat. "Listen, you've just given Duncan a fighting _chance_ to live! I-I'll do anything to repay you! Hell... _heck,_ I'll even be your gun for free! Forget the salary. Just let me at least help you with finding _your son._ I owe you that much." 

It was Dawn's turn to shake her head. "You don't owe me anything," and she gave him a wide smile, wide enough to form a tiny dimple on her left cheek. "That's what friends do, Mac." 

He swallowed, completely unsure of what to say. He watched the divot on her cheek disappear, and not wanting it to go just yet he blurted out a rushed "Robert. Just call me Robert." 

Her hands wavered slightly as she wiped the last of the foam from his face and proceeded to clean off the razor in the sink. "I'll call you Robert if you stop calling me Boss," a ghost of a laugh lilting her voice. "You can wash your face now." 

MacCready turned to splash more water to wipe off the remaining suds, a hand smoothing over his cheeks to test the smoothness, then tilted his head as he watched her settle back down on the couch. She gave him a thumbs up, satisfied with her work, and then began to take off her boots. 

He was still staring at her, watching her hands as she unlaced each shoe, his gaze slowly trailing up her arm and then resting at her cheek. He thought he could say something funny, something at least amusing, just so that he could see that little dimple form again. 

But she looked up at him, confusion quirking her brow, and his train of thought was obliterated. "What are you looking at?" She lifted a hand over cheek, checking if anything was there.  

"There was...there was some foam on your cheek," he lied, quickly recovering before he cleared the bed. Dawn wiped the back of her hand over her face, and MacCready quickly nodded as he laid down. "You got it. You're good." 

She mumbled her thanks as she swung her legs over the couch and shifted to get herself comfortable, feet dangling off the edge. 

He felt guilty for taking the bed. He felt bad for being _comfortable_ while she was still adjusting. So he sat up, Dawn looking over in confusion, and he beckoned her over. 

"We'll swap," he sighed. "I don't like the bed, I prefer the couch." 

Dawn wrinkled her nose as she sensed his hollow lie. "No you don't, don't be stupid." 

"Seriously, take the bed," he rose up, but Dawn stayed put. 

"Robert MacCready," she wagged her index finger. It was strange to hear her say his first name for the first time. "I know you haven't slept for two days. I'm staying right here. Go _to bed._ " 

He awkwardly stood by the side, but when he realised that Dawn wasn't going to budge he lowered himself back down onto the lumpy mattress. She smirked at her victory, then lifted her arm over her eyes. 

"Now go to sleep..." She sighed. 

Defeated, and slightly rejected for having his kindness refused, he laid himself down on his back and stared at the ceiling. 

He listened to her steady breathing when he finally closed his eyes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi guys! Have more feelings! 
> 
> I've finished writing the drafts for the next few chapters and... oooh I won't spoil it. Guess you're gonna have to find out! 
> 
> Thank you for commenting your thoughts on the previous chapter! I know that it was such a horrible little cliffhanger. But I just love MacDaddy and his devotion for his son, and I know that he would do anything – even face his demons – to get that cure for Duncan. It just had to be done, even if it did make me a little bit sad to write it. 
> 
> Anyway, I've ended this chapter on a happier note to make up for the previous one. Hope you liked the tiny bit of fluff.  
> I'll see you on the next update!


	15. Chapter 15

Sanctuary was becoming more and more familiar to MacCready. Dawn had disappeared to do her usual errands, while MacCready busied himself with cleaning his rifle in Sturges' workshop. They were back at her main settlement for two days now – three days since they left Duncan's cure with Daisy – and whenever he had free time from patrolling he went straight to work with his gun.

Sturges was busying himself with upgrading a turret, a screw held between his lips and a spanner in hand. Aside from the occasional sound of tinkering within the workshop, the two men were mostly silent as they worked. MacCready liked that about the mechanic. He didn't try to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter, obviously sharing the mercenary's sentiments with finding solace in their own projects.

But his solace was interrupted when a woman strode up to them, arms crossed in bitter disposition. MacCready looked up from his rifle, getting a proper look of her. She was slim, high cheekbones and jet black hair cut by her jawline. She would have been pretty if she smiled, but the anger she exudes had twisted her features into something less pleasant.

"Merc," she barked, "Why don't you actually make yourself useful for once and do some hunting."

Sturges perked up from the harsh order. But he did not look at her with disdain, more like in understanding. "C'mon Marcy, that ain't no way to talk to our guest," he said as he set down his tools. "Besides, don't we have enough meat in the smokehouse?"

Marcy scoffed. "We do, but there's only so much Molerat I can stomach. There's a herd of Radstag spotted further up the lake." Her eyes narrowed at MacCready. "Y'know, earn your keep for a change."

MacCready opened his mouth to retort but Sturges gave him a hard look, forcing the young man to bite back his insult. Marcy stiffly turned on her heel before stomping off, and once she was far away he slammed his rifle back together.

"Don't pay her no mind," Sturges sighed as he returned his attention back to the turret, "She's gone through a lot back in Quincy. Her husband, Jun, he's a nervous wreck now. And to think that they were one of the nicest families before they lost their son."

MacCready's hands stilled, breathing temporarily halted, and he looked up to watch Marcy disappear into a shack. "How old was their son?"

"Kyle was nine."

He clenched his jaw as he gently pieced back his weapon. Briefly he wondered if he would act the same way as Marcy if he had lost Duncan. It was not something he wanted to admit out loud, but there was a point in his life where his mind wandered to darker thoughts. What if Duncan didn't make it? What if he didn't get the cure in time?

Would he be bitter, or depressed, or angry...or all of them?

MacCready didn't let these thoughts linger for too long. He checked over his rifle once more before slinging it around his back.

"I'm gonna go hunting," he announced to Sturges.

The mechanic nodded and stood up to wipe his hands on a rag he kept tucked away in his pocket. "You might wanna take Preston with you. Be easier for two of ya to lug back a whole Stag."

"Where can I find him?"

"He's probably by the Vault with the General," Sturges pointed over to the hill behind the settlement, "I overheard them talking about digging the graves up on the hill."

MacCready hummed as he glanced over to the bank in question. He spotted a rusted guard tower peeking over the horizon, the sirens and alarms were silent and unmoving on the structure. "Graves, huh?" He chewed his bottom lip in thought.

"Oh, you don't know?" Sturges seemed surprised by MacCready's ignorance. "She's planning to bury all of the dead bodies in that vault – including her husband – there's only got six left to bury."

Something stirred within MacCready to make him jump into action. His stride long and hurried, the sniper trekked up past the smaller bridge and weaved his way around dead trees and military trucks. He spotted Preston straight away, shovel in hand and digging a fresh grave amongst a row of others.

"Preston!" He called, head whipping left and right as he scouted the area. Preston stopped in his task and took off his hat to fan the sweat off his brow, but confusion drew upon his features as he watched MacCready explore the clearing. "Where's Dawn?"

Preston stayed quiet as he watched MacCready. The Minutemen sighed as he leaned his weight on the shovel, hat hung loosely between his fingers. "She's in the vault," he said, "Best not disturb her."

"Y-yeah, I know, but..." MacCready suddenly stalled, unsure of the reason why he was there in the first place. He felt stupid – not to mention embarrassed – and he was grateful when Preston chose not to enquire any further. They were both silent, Preston observing while MacCready stood there awkwardly, until the siren on the guard post began to alarm. They both turned to the vault entrance, the ground shaking with a deep rumble and the vault pad sliding open. "What's going on?"

"The General is coming up," Preston set down the shovel and placed his hat back on his head. MacCready followed the Minuteman to the vault pad, unease spreading into his gut as he looked down into the abyss. But the floor was rising, Dawn stood patiently in the centre, and it eventually rose all the way to the top. The sirens ceased, and Dawn ran a hand through her hair as she fiddled with her Pip-Boy.

Preston stepped forward to greet her. "How are you doing, General?"

Dawn perked up, noticing the two men with surprise, but her shoulders sank when she eyed the fresh and empty graves in the clearing. MacCready noted the redness in her cheeks and under her eyes, as if she had rubbed the skin too hard, and the slowly melting frost on her shoulders and arms. Dawn noticed the frost as well, but her expression soured at the observation. She made a disgusted noise as she quickly dusted it off her.

"I need some time alone," she spat out when she made her way past the men.

MacCready made a move to follow her but was held back by a firm hand on his shoulder. Preston shook his head before letting go, and the both of them watched Dawn in silence as she trekked down the hill with her head hung low.

Another loud sigh came from the Minuteman, and MacCready turned to the older man with curiosity. "I guess it's back to patrolling again," Preston huffed as he brought his laser musket forward.

"Actually, I got another idea," MacCready suggested as he fell in step with Preston. "Marcy told me about some Radstags up by the lake. I could use some help carrying one back."

The Minuteman chuckled at MacCready's words. "You sure you don't need help with taking one of 'em down?"

"C'mon! I'm the best shot in the Commonwealth!" MacCready flashed a smirk as he pointed a thumb at the rifle on his back, head tilted to the side as he let an air of confidence surround him. "You might learn a thing or two."

* * *

There was one thing MacCready loved about Sanctuary, and it was the feeling of a close community when all of the settlers ate together. He and Preston returned from the lake with a fresh kill – a large stag strung up on the pole the carried – and together they had gutted and prepared the meat for the smokehouse. There was enough remaining meat for a feast that night.

Sturges turned out to be talented with cooking – his collection of tools only rivalled his collection of pre-war spices – and he was busily chatting to some settlers as he turned the meat roasting on the grill outside. MacCready finally met Jun Long as he sat on one of the repaired garden chairs in the front yard of a pre-war home, but the conversation quickly ran dry when the jittery man seemed to be taken over by his own personal turmoil.

Thankfully Preston had sensed the discomforted silence between the two men, and he quickly sat down beside MacCready, bowl in each hand with an assortment of cooked vegetables and meat.

"Hey, MacCready. I've got to admit, I'm impressed." Preston nodded at the sniper as he handed one of the bowls over. "Took you only one bullet to bring that Radstag down. Clean shot, too."

MacCready took the bowl with a small smile, grateful for both the food and the compliment. "Told you, I'm the best sharpshooter around," he smirked as he picked through his food.

"Well, that will teach me for doubting you in the first place." Preston began eating his own meal, chewing appreciatively as he gave Sturges a quick nod of approval.

MacCready stopped mid-chew, quirking his brow up in the process. "You doubted me?"

"I did, at first." Preston stirred his meal in thought, though MacCready couldn't read Preston's expression. "I won't lie to you. The General can be...naïve at times, so when she came back with a mercenary...well, let's just say that I was worried."

"Aw c'mon, hiring a gun can't be that bad," MacCready said through mouthfuls.

A sigh blew from Preston's nose, his dark eyes narrowing at the bowl held at his hands. There was a small stretch of silence between the two men – bar the chatter of the other settlers in the background – but MacCready chose not to break the silence and observed the Minuteman instead.

Preston set down his half-eaten bowl to the floor for later. "It's not you I'm worried about..." His voice trailed and his brows creased slightly, lips still parted as if he was contemplating on elaborating further. Eventually Preston cleared his throat, then turned fully to MacCready to address him. "I'm more worried about Dawn."

"Oh yeah?" MacCready didn't abandon his food like Preston had, he was too hungry for that, but he kept his attention fully on Preston as he ate. "Why?"

"She's a good person. Sometimes, a little too good. Throws herself into unnecessary danger a lot." A small smile curled the corners of Preston's lips, as if a passing thought had amused him. "I guess you could call her a _bleeding heart._ There's a farm nearby here – belongs to the Abernathy family – and she threw herself into a Raider camp to bring back a locket they stole from them. I only sent her there to talk to them about the raiding and relay the information back to me, but she came back looking worse for wear. She was covered in blood, bruises _everywhere_ , and she had Stimpack sickness where she used too many to treat the gunshot wounds she got from those Raiders."

"Holy sh- Yeesh," he stopped himself from cursing. A pained hiss escaped between the sniper's teeth as he listened.

"Yeah, she was a real mess. Marcy made a big stink about it before she agreed to patch her up." Preston shrugged at the memory, but the small smile still turned the corners of his mouth. "Took me by real surprise when she said that the whole thing was worth it. She told me about the locket holding a lot of significance to the Abernathy family, something about it belonging to one of their daughters who was killed by those Raiders, and when she returned it they agreed to become allies to the Minutemen."

MacCready swallowed down his mouthful of food and placed his bowl to the ground. He wasn't full, but a knot formed in his stomach, and he was no longer hungry. He knew Dawn had a soft spot for children, but hearing of her risking her life for other families made him realize just how selfless she can be. She risked her life for Duncan, and the thought caused the knot to twist that little bit tighter.

Something in MacCready's expression gave away his discomfort as Preston looked up at him with concern. "Hey, you okay?" Preston asked as he gave the sniper a small nudge.

"Y-yeah, I'm good," MacCready stood up then busied his hands by adjusting the strap of his watch. "You seen Dawn lately?"

Preston made a quick survey of their surroundings before facing the sniper once more. "Come to think of it, she hasn't stopped by for food."

MacCready hummed in thought. "Know where I can find her?"

"Sure," Preston lifted himself from his seat and pointed at one of the pre-war houses further down the street. It was in better condition than the rest of the houses on the cul-de-sac, even the hedges on the front yard were trimmed, and the tell-tale orange flicker of candlelight could be seen glowing on the windowsill. "That's her house, over there."

"Her house, huh?" MacCready tried to think back on her mentioning her home. "Didn't know she has her own house in Sanctuary. Why is she always sleeping in the bunkers? Her place got a leak or something?"

Preston exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head in the process as he watched the candle flicker. "Nah, the place is fine. She said she lived there with her family before the war, but now...well, let's just say she doesn't like being alone there for too long. That's why she sleeps in the bunkers, there's always provisioners or traders sharing the space."

It was a sentiment MacCready could relate to a certain extent, but not something he would openly share with the world. He took a mental note, but he shrugged nonchalantly to play off his concern. Preston was silent for a few moments before picked up his bowl and began to finish off the rest of his meal, the action prompting MacCready to scoop up his own.

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I'm gonna get another serving," MacCready announced as he made his way back to Sturges, Preston grunting in acknowledgement at the departure.

Sturges tilted his head to MacCready as he approached, a grin stretching wide across the mechanic's face. "Back for more?" Sturges turned back to the grill to turn some meat.

"Man, you sure do cook up a mean steak," MacCready chuckled, then he picked up a clean plate and held it out to Sturges. "It ain't for me though. This one is for the boss."

A knowing look replaced Sturge's grin, and he cocked his head slightly to study MacCready. "Sure thing. Gotta make sure the head honcho eats, too." Sturges carefully selected an assortment of vegetables and morsels before placing it onto the outstretched plate. "Here, she prefers the leaner cuts."

"Thanks."

MacCready took his time as he strolled up to the house; bowl and plate in each hand, the candle still flickering by the window. The front door was ajar, which he gently pushed open with his boot, then stood by the entrance in the open-plan living room. It was impressively clean, much like the outside of the house, where furniture was arranged in a very purposeful way. There was hardly any clutter, with most possessions either displayed tastefully or tucked away neatly around the room.

It was, however, quiet. Without the lit candle by the window, it would have been easy to assume there was no-one here. He decided against entering further and closed the front door fully instead with his boot.

"Boss?" He called out.

There was no answer, but he could hear some metallic sounds from the next room over.

"Boss, you in here?" MacCready moved himself to the middle of the room and stood patiently, waiting for any sign of Dawn. "I brought you some foo-"

He nearly dropped their meal in shock when a Mr. Handy emerged into the hallway, torch blazing in the darkness as it turned to face him. It floated into the room, torch still lit and pointed at the mercenary, all three lenses perked and scrutinizing him intently.

"Good evening, sir!" It hovered closer. MacCready instinctively held up the plate of food like some bizarre peace offering, but it was the only barrier between him and the floating robot. The Mr. Handy remained unperturbed and carried on its path. "Usually I would reprimand anyone who enters without knocking, but since your hands are full I suppose I could overlook it on this occasion."

His eyes flitted between the flame and the plate, completely caught off-guard and unsure of what to do next.

"Yeah, okay, but can you just – _hey,_ don't get too close – just quit it with the fireworks, would ya?" MacCready took a step back, careful not to spill the contents of the meal whilst doing so. "Listen, I'm sorry for _breaking_ in, but I thought I could bring some food up for Dawn. Know where she is?"

The torch immediately snuffed out, then it lifted up two of its arms into something that resembled a shrug. "My apologies, sir. I'm afraid my night vision sensors have been corrupted, so my only alternative was to use old fashioned fire to light the way. You know how it goes – be resourceful when you can – but I digress," the robot hovered back, granting some space between the two. "My name is Codsworth, and judging by your choice of headwear I suppose you are Mr. MacCready?"

MacCready nodded dumbly as he had a proper look at the Mr. Handy. Perched upon its metal dome was a pristine bowler hat. Whether or not it was through Codsworth's personal choice to place it there, he didn't know.

"Uh...yes. That's...that's me," MacCready stalled as he realized his identifying feature was his military cap. He raised the plate once more as he cast the sentiment aside. "Well, food's kinda getting cold, so..."

All three of Codworth's lenses rose higher on their stalks. "Ah, yes, of course Mr. MacCready. I'll give them to mum when she returns."

"Returns?" He balked, but his shoulders sank as Codsworth carefully relieved him of Dawn's plate. "I was kinda hoping I could talk to her, d'you know when she'll be back?"

"I'm afraid she lives on a schedule only she would know," Codsworth released a rather melodramatic and forlorn sigh. "Mum could be anywhere right now. Perhaps it would be best if you leave, but I will let her know of your visit when she arrives."

MacCready was about to object until something moved in his peripheral, and he craned his neck over the robot to see Dawn standing casually in the hallway. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, Pip-Boy gone from her wrist, and her frame engulfed in a shirt that was many sizes too big.

"It's okay, Codsworth," she sighed. "MacCready can stay. No need to turn him away."

"My apologies, mum." Codsworth set the plate of food onto the island counter and pulled one of the stools out for her to sit. "I understand that you wanted me to send away anyone who came to see you unless it was urgent."

She perched herself onto the stool whilst giving the robot a gracious smile. "You've got nothing to apologise for. I was the one who told you that I wanted to be left alone."

"Ah, thank you, mum." Codsworth lit up his torch once more to ignite a candle on the table, the room now filling up in a warm and inviting glow. "Well, I shall leave you to your meal. I'm afraid that I need to return back to Red Rocket Station – heaven knows what Dogmeat could be chewing on in my absence – but I'll visit again late afternoon."

"Thanks for your help, Codsworth. I'll see you tomorrow."

The robot dipped slightly as it travelled through the living room, tipping its black bowler hat in a salute before leaving the house. Dawn's smile faded in the absence of her metal companion, and her expression faltered slightly when she regarded MacCready standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Mac?" She said.

He didn't answer right away. Instead he watched her hands, hesitant and slightly trembling as she held her fork. "You know..." He began as he took a seat opposite her, "I never got a chance to properly thank you."

Her fork clinked against the plate as she absentmindedly picked at her meal. For a second, he was unsure if she was listening, but her head tilted up and she met his gaze with a soft smile. "Don't thank me," she said, voice gentle and quiet. "Besides, we've already talked about it in Goodneighbor."

"I know," he sighed. His meal was cold by now, so he cast it aside while Dawn slowly ate hers. It was quiet between them – he could almost describe it as oddly peaceful – so he occupied the time by pretending to count the ammo on his bandoliers while Dawn ate her dinner. Twenty-seven rounds, plus the two on his cap, and when his attention returned back to Dawn he felt slightly dismayed when she only ate a tiny portion.

He was about to pry, but he stopped himself when the candle flickered. A glint of gold peeked from the rings around her neck, twisting and swaying in the dim light while Dawn pushed some vegetables around her plate. There was a faraway look in her eyes. It almost felt like he was intruding, but he felt compelled to pull her out of her silence.

"Hey," he said, a crooked smile forming. "Have you heard of the Super Mutant who wondered why a rock kept getting bigger?" He paused for dramatic effect. "Then it _hit him._ "

Dawn looked up at him with a puzzled expression, mouth opening and closing as she was at loss for words. MacCready punctuated the bad pun with jazz hands – _because jazz hands make everything funnier –_ and felt like he accomplished his goal when she huffed out a restrained laugh. Even though it was slightly forced, even though the smile wasn't wide enough to form a dimple, it was enough to bring her out of her thoughts.

She shook her head, fork placed on the table and meal now forgotten. "That joke was awful," she said, but she still smiled through her distaste. "Got any more?"

The odd request made him feel a little bit nervous, like he had a sudden stage fright for _puns_ , and he tried to shake off the feeling and masked it with another smirk.

"Not tonight, but I'll let you know if I can think of one." He folded his arms and rested his elbows on the table, leg bouncing from nerves on the rungs of his stool.

A small hum came from her pressed lips, most likely in thought than in reply, and she leaned forward as she rested her cheek upon her hand. Then her eyes focused intently on him, scrutinizing like she was reading something illegible, lips pressing ever tighter in concentration. MacCready didn't look away, taking it as some sort of personal challenge to not waver and falter.

It was her who broke eye-contact, and she seemed amused as a hand clasped around the rings on her necklace. She looked back up to speak. "You know, you turned out to be different than I thought you would be," she laughed a little to herself, genuine this time. "When I first met you I thought you were ruthless...fearless. Just another wastelander with a big gun on his back and a bigger chip on his shoulder." Dawn let go of the rings and it swung freely once more. "At first I didn't know whether or not you had other emotions except from anger...but you're just...I don't know. Normal? A little goofy?"

"Goofy?" He blanched at the thought. "C'mon, Boss. You're ruinin' my street cred here."

She raised a finger and waggled it in mock reprimand. "Dawn – not _Boss_ – just call me Dawn, Mr. MacCready."

MacCready imitated the motion back. "Ah-ah, same to you. Just Robert."

She hummed once again in thought. "Okay, _Robert,_ " his name rolled off her tongue like it was foreign, "I've noticed something. You always have two bullets strapped to your hat, but you never use it. Is it a part of your _tough guy_ image, or...?" She gestured vaguely to his cap.

The sinking feeling returned to his gut, and it writhed its way up to his chest. His took off his hat, running a quick hand through his hair as if the action would shake the feeling away, but it stayed and twisted his heart with a vice grip. Dawn sensed this somehow, like she knew she had touched a nerve.

"I'm sorry," she reeled. "You don't have to tell me-"

"Hey, it's okay," he turned his hat over as he gave her a reassuring smile. "You deserve to know," then he slid his hat across the table to Dawn. She caught it and inspected it with gentle hands. "Put it on."

Dawn didn't need to be told twice, and she swiftly placed his hat atop her head like it was something she had wanted to do for a long time. Like the shirt she was wearing, his hat was slightly too big for her head, and it rested in a lopsided angle over her forehead. "How do I look?" She said as she tipped the visor away from her eyes, and he nodded in approval.

"Not bad," he shrugged. "Looks better on me, though."

"Ever the charmer," she scoffed as she pulled the hat off and held it between her hands. Her index finger slowly traced over the two rounds wedged in the strap. "Why don't you put more bullets here?"

"Two is all I need."

His gut sank when he said those words, and it was like she instantly knew how he felt when her lips pressed back into a grim line. _She knew_ , and it sickened him somewhat at how easily she was reading him.

"Who?" She said.

_She knows._

"For me," he sighed. "And another in case Duncan was with me." He beckoned for his hat back, and she reluctantly returned it. "I never told you about my wife, come to think of it."

Dawn's eyes flickered to the table, shoulders squaring as she took in a deep breath. "No," she exhaled. "You weren't ready to tell me. Remember when we were at the Dugout Inn? Vadim mentioned someone...Lucy, was it?"

"Yeah, Lucy," he couldn't bear to look at Dawn right now. "She was beautiful. Duncan kinda looks like her, same round face and brown hair, but he didn't have her eyes. His are blue, same as mine, but Lucy had these amazing hazel-brown eyes." He shook his head at the memory. "I could just stare at them for eternity and I would still discover new colors in 'em," he sighed. "Damn, I miss Lucy."

"You must have really loved her," she smiled when he found the courage to look back at her.

"Still do." The declaration caused the ache in his chest to lessen, but something else filled the void. He chose not to dwell on it and carried on speaking. "We were living in the Capital Wasteland when Duncan was born, but with the Brotherhood of Steel running the show things were getting a little bit out of hand. It was Lucy's idea to migrate back here to the Commonwealth. Duncan was barely one when we left our old home to start a new life here, but we made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night."

It was getting hard to talk. He was determined to finish his story, but he could feel his throat tighten as he tried to relive that night in the metro station.

Dawn looked up at him with concern. "It's okay, Robert," she said.

But he shook his head, suddenly overwhelmed. He came to visit Dawn to check up on her, _not_ spill his life story to her. It was too late to stop anyway, it would be unfair to not finish. "Hey, uh...sorry, Dawn. You got anything strong to drink?"

She stood up - "Sure thing" - and quickly flitted over to a bottle of whiskey resting on one of the kitchen counters. She poured out two generous glasses and wordlessly handed one to MacCready.

One large gulp later, and the whiskey burned away the ache. "Thanks," he winced slightly. "Where was I? Oh yeah, uh...anyway, we were all sleeping in an abandoned metro station. We thought it was empty since we used to stop by there before, but not this time. The place was crawling with ferals, and they were on us before I could fire a shot." His hands started to shake, disturbing the whiskey in his glass. "They got Lucy – tore her apart right in front of me – and it took everything I had to grab Duncan and run...but I could never get the image out of my head. _Her_ , dying a horrible death by those _bastards_. That's why I keep two rounds ready, in case we ever get cornered again. I don't want to die the same way, same for my boy."

The skin of his knuckles was bone white from where he gripped his glass so tight. He took a deep breath as he glared at his hands, wishing that they would _stop shaking_ so much.

"Look at me," Dawn's voice was gentle, and he obliged as he looked into her eyes. They were so brown, darker than Lucy's, but they held the same warmth she had. "Breathe. It's okay."

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," he said as he took in more deep breaths, calming his nerves. "Sometimes...I just..." He clenched his jaw when he swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. "Sometimes I wondered if we would have been better off if we _all_ died down there. Duncan has a dead mother, an absent father, and an illness which...God, I don't even know if the cure will work, y'know? I don't even know if he's going to be _safe_ without me."

The whiskey isn't working. The ache came back with a vengeance and he buried his head in his trembling hands, breathing heavily as he tried to keep himself together. But another hand – Dawn's hands – slid up his arm and rested on his shoulder, and she twisted him slightly so he could face her.

But she didn't stop there. Her hands slid past his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace; something that he needed and readily returned.

"Thank you for telling me," she whispered before letting go.

And he suddenly noticed how the air felt cold in the absence of her warmth.

"I-I'm...darn it," he shrugged before letting out a frustrated huff. "I'm sorry for dumping all of my feelings on the table. It's just, well, you've got the whole world on your shoulders, yet here you are lending your shoulder like Lucy did. I haven't trusted anyone else like that since her, and..." MacCready mustered as much courage as he could to meet her eye. "What I mean to say is, thank you for listening. For everything."

She smiled, sincere and hopeful. Her eyes were twinkling in the orange candlelight, the shadow of her dimple dancing with the flicker of the flames. Everything about her radiated warmth, a kindness that this rotten world did not deserve to grace.

But the orange glow was suddenly overpowered with a red glare, the light shining in from outside, and they both tensed before turning to the front window.

A red flare hovered in the distance, floating above where the bridge to Sanctuary crossed over the river. Dawn immediately made her way to the window, watching minutemen run down the street to the source of the flare, then she bolted down the hallway into her room.

It took her under a minute to emerge back into the kitchen, now dressed in her road leathers. She nodded to MacCready as she carried a shotgun in her hands.

"It's a distress flare," she announced. "We need to go to Red Rocket, _now._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi guys! Welcome back! 
> 
> I'm sorry this update took a while. I've been a busy girl, but I'm afraid that I will still be busy for another month or so. 
> 
> Anyway, I know it seems like the "final affinity" talk seems incomplete, but I don't think it feels right to directly import the version in game to this story. The actual conversation in FO4 seemed a bit too rushed and sudden in my opinion, so I thought it would be more realistic and appropriate to break it up and take it a little bit slower. To me it would be a little bit more meaningful that way, but do let me know of your opinions too! 
> 
> I've always wondered about the two shells in Mac's hat, but my headcanon for it is really depressing come to think of it. I'd be interested to know of your on headcanon's if you have one! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kind comments! You guys are just incredible, and I am so grateful for all of you for reading this far into the story! I love you so much!


	16. Chapter 16

He could hear the gunfire. 

Each shot echoed in the night air, metallic and rippling off in different directions. MacCready lowered his cap to shade his eyes from the red flare above, forcing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the adrenaline sharpening his senses as he ran across the broken bridge of Sanctuary. 

There were minutemen ahead, shooting and shouting, and when MacCready cleared the hill he saw the Red Rocket Station in chaos. 

Raiders, lots of them. Against the minutemen they were weaker, their makeshift leather and scrap armour had little protection against the damage of minutemen laser muskets. But there were so many of them, and they stormed the station with reckless abandon. 

Dawn ran ahead, mowing down any raider that dared get close to her with her shotgun, and she disappeared into the building with such fierceness, it was a wonder what was worth protecting inside. MacCready chose to skirt around the battle, moving quietly to higher ground above in the nearby brush. He crouched down, profile low, and then readied his rifle as he scoped the fight below. 

The minutemen were holding their own, and the sniper picked off any raider that planned to run into the station. A high-pitched whistle whizzed past his ear – he was spotted by a raider psycho – and MacCready quickly shifted back to move to a new position. The psycho pointed out MacCready's old position to his comrades, and the sniper watched a small group of raiders advance up the hill. 

Time to move. Rifle gripped tightly in his hands, he bolted to the trees, creating as much distance as he could. There was a large broken tree ahead, and he hid behind it as he reloaded his gun, focusing all of his senses to pinpoint any nearby enemies. He held his breath. He could hear them. 

"Where'd that fucker go?" Called out one of the raiders, clumsy boots noisily thumping closer through the brush. "Come out, you fucking pussy!" 

MacCready stayed silent and still, watching the raider trudge past the tree he was hiding behind, but four more were somewhere nearby. 

"I swear I saw 'im run here," another said, voice low and gruff, and he sounded close. Then the gruff raider rounded the tree, and MacCready was spotted. "Shit! He's here!" 

The sniper launched forward, using all of his momentum to smash the butt of his rifle into the raider's face. A grunt and splutter, the gruff raider covered his bleeding nose with both his hands, and MacCready took this chance to grab the raider from behind in a chokehold. With MacCready's other hand he stole the raider's sidearm and shot at the other thugs. 

One outlaw fired at MacCready, but he gripped tight onto his captive and used him as a meat-shield. Bullets hit his shield, impacts dull and wet, and MacCready shot back. The raider became limp and heavy in his hands, and the sniper let the dead body go as he returned fire at the outlaw. 

A clean shot between the eyes. MacCready ducked behind another tree, chips of wood splintering into the air as more shots fired at him. He blind-fired around the tree with the stolen pistol, a lucky shot hitting one raider and causing them to scream in pain, and MacCready took advantage of the distraction to peek round. One raider was writhing on the floor, hands scrabbling over the bullet wound on their stomach, and MacCready finished him off with a well-aimed bullet to the head. 

"He got Crooks!" One raider shouted to MacCready's left, but the sniper was focused on the thug with the shotgun running towards him. 

A deafening boom blasted through the air as MacCready maneuvered around the tree, buckshot tearing through the frayed ends of his duster. He fired around the tree again – second time lucky – and more pained screams from the other side. 

The stolen pistol clicked dry. MacCready gritted his teeth as he streaked towards the screaming raider, snatching the shotgun and ending the screams with the pull of a trigger. Blood and brains splattered everywhere, making MacCready's stomach lurch at the sight, but he spun round to find the last psycho- 

Too late. The last raider crept up from behind and slammed their gun across MacCready's head. 

Stars and blurred vision. The shotgun fell from his hands and he felt the dirt beneath his fingers. MacCready blinked through the pain, blood pouring down his temple, and he looked up only to stare down the barrel of a gun. 

The raider seethed as he used his gun to tip off MacCready's hat, the cap falling to the floor with a faint sound. MacCready's eyes narrowed from the brightness of the flare behind the raider, covering the outlaw with a halo of red and smoke. 

"Fucking die," the thug spat, finger squeezing the trigger. 

A streak of brown and black fur knocked the gun out of the raider's hand. Snarls and growls came from the scuffle, and MacCready sat up as his head cleared slightly. The raider flailed uselessly as a large German Shepherd clamped down on his arm, rooting the panicked thug to the spot. MacCready reached for the dropped shotgun and raised it at the raider's head. 

The air filled with another red spray, and the dog let go of the raider as the headless body collapsed to the ground. The hound turned to MacCready, a minutemen flag tied around the dog's collar, and it sniffed at the mercenary. 

MacCready slowly raised his hand, the hound watching him carefully, and before he could give the dog an appreciative pat it scurried off into the darkness. 

"Good dog," MacCready's speech slurred as he stared at the spot where the dog used to be. He picked up his hat before he sloppily put it back on, then stood up as the world seemed to spin around him. His head was in so much pain, blood still heavily pouring out of the wound on his temple, and he tried his best to stand despite being so disorientated. 

The night was now quiet – bar the shouts of minutemen in the distance – and MacCready swayed on the spot. He caught himself by grabbing onto a nearby tree to steady himself, nausea creeping up his throat as more blood trickled down his face. 

Two hands held him by the shoulders, and through the haze MacCready felt thankful that Dawn was there to hold him again. 

But the grip was too tight. The hold too strong. 

MacCready looked back up. It wasn't Dawn. 

"Fucking hell, you're alive!" The stranger said, his voice familiar in the darkness. MacCready squinted his eyes as he tried to place the man's voice and face; all beard and square angles, and dull green eyes were shadowed by a thick brow. "Well I'll be damned, Winlock is gonna have a field day when he finds out you're still breathing." 

"W-wha?" MacCready coughed as he wiped the blood away from his eyes. His stomach dropped when he suddenly remembered who this stranger was, and his insides twisted when he pushed him away. "Carnes? John Carnes? Wha...what are you doing here? I thought you left the Gunners?" 

Carnes shrugged. "No-one leaves the Gunners," he said gravely, "I'm only here to see what sort of defences the Minutemen have. We gave a false tip to some nearby raiders – told them a huge cache of caps are stored in that shitty station – and I've been sent to watch how the new General handle sudden attacks. Anyway, I need to head back before those minutemen fucks get here and catches us." 

"N-no, Carnes, wait!" MacCready slumped into the tree, legs giving out from under him. But Carnes ignored the protest. 

"I've got to go, Mac," Carnes hushed, "Do me a favour, send intel about any future outposts the minutemen are planning to set up." The gunner paused, as if remembering something. "Oh yeah, Winlock said something about your son finally getting some sorta cure. Congratulations by the way." 

Carnes turned his back and sneaked off down the brush, leaving MacCready slumped and lost in the dirt. MacCready reached behind his back for his rifle, but when he grabbed empty air he realized his gun was dropped during his previous scuffle. Anger bubbled up and boiled his blood as he watched Carnes' back disappear into the distance, and the sniper forced his body to stand up again to chase the gunner. 

_Fucking Winlock and his mind-games._  

But he tripped, legs so weak to move, and his vision blurred as tears of frustration blinded him further. 

_I'm going to kill that bastard!_  

MacCready whipped his head round in panic as he tried to pin point where Carnes went, but there was no sign of him. Carnes was gone, and MacCready let out an anguished cry as he balled up his fists. 

_"I'll kill him!"_ He roared, grief taking over and consuming him like fire, _"I'll_ _kill them all!"_  

Spots were dancing in front of him. His body was not responding to his commands, but the heavy weight of the world crashed onto him and held him to the ground. 

He could hear barking. He could hear his name being called out. 

They sounded so far away. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lucy was smiling. 

Duncan was still asleep as she cradled him in her arms, and MacCready quietly picked away at the old guitar in his hands. It was an old tune he learned in Little Lamplight – easy to play and easy on the ears – and he hummed along to the song as he played. 

He looked up, but Lucy was nowhere in sight, and Duncan was lying on the floor in front of him. MacCready gently put down the guitar as he crouched down to his son. He picked up Duncan, but his breath hitched in his throat as the boy lay limp in his arms. 

Duncan wasn't breathing. 

 

* * *

 

 

MacCready gasped for air as his body jolted back into existence. He bolted upright, arms and hands feeling empty, his chest feeling emptier, and the morning sunlight from the window burned his eyes. 

Breathing was hard. He willed for his heart to stop thumping in his ears. A few deep breaths later, it didn't take too long to calm down – nightmares were nothing new to him – but the anxiety was still prevalent as he surveyed his surroundings. 

He was back in the bunkers at Sanctuary, his rifle and hat placed neatly on the next bed over, and the familiar scratch of bandages itched at his temple. His duster was folded up and rested atop the nightstand beside him, leaving the sniper in his white vest and military pants. He looked forward, and he scowled at what he saw ahead. 

Sat on a chair at the foot of his bed, was Deacon. 

"Morning, sunshine!" Deacon greeted with so much forced glee, and MacCready would do anything to punch the sunglasses into the bald man's head until it was a part of the agent's biology. "Sleep well?" 

"Shut up," MacCready groused as he rubbed his palms over his eyes, "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I could ask the same to you." 

The comment made MacCready's heart skip a beat, and he lifted his gaze to glare at the agent. An enigmatic smile lifted Deacon's features, but the sunglasses prevented MacCready from reading further into his expression. 

The sounds of boots thumping from outside halted their exchange, and they both turned their attention to the door as Dawn ran into the building. She halted at the doorframe as she caught her breath, sweat shining on her forehead from the run. Dawn shot Deacon a bewildered look, completely caught off-guard and unsure of what to make of the situation. 

"Deacon?" She gasped, "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Wow," Deacon chuckled under his breath, "You both sure know how to throw a welcome party!" 

But Dawn ignored him and turned to MacCready, suddenly breathless again, yet relieved. "Robert, you're awake!"  

Deacon blanched – _"Robert?"_ – but MacCready also ignored the agent as he ran a quick hand through his hair. He was at loss for words, and though he was glad that Dawn was alive and in one piece, he physically couldn't bring himself to be glad to see her. Last night flashed through his mind, and his mood soured as he remembered Carnes walking away. 

Dawn didn't catch on to his irritation, and she quickly knelt down beside the bed. "Oh my God, I was so worried," her words rushed out as she stared up at him, "I thought you were still behind me, and when I went into Red Rocket and saw you weren't there I-I assumed the worst. And then when the fight was over we still couldn't find you, a-and..." Dawn gulped in another deep breath, "Thank God Dogmeat led me back to you, he wouldn't stop barking until I followed his lead." 

"Dogmeat?" MacCready sat up straight on the bed, "The big brown dog, you mean?" 

She perked up. "Yeah, did you already meet him?" 

He nodded. "The pooch saved my life." 

"Ah..." 

Dawn's brow furrowed in confusion, but she shook her head from whatever thought had crossed her mind. "Strange. He's never protected someone he's never met before, unless..." Dawn released an odd cough, but she composed herself again before carrying on. "Dogmeat probably picked up my scent on you." 

" _Your_ scent?" He raised a brow as he yawned. "On me?" 

His response only made her shift uncomfortably. "Well, from...you know. From when I hugged you?" 

MacCready choked mid-yawn. 

Deacon chose this moment to chirp up, causing the two to bring their attention back to him. "Aw, how sweet – _kinda_ _awkward –_ and as much as I'd love to stand here and watch whatever..." He gestured vaguely at them both, " _This_ is, my time here is limited." 

Dawn took this as a sign to stand up. She took as step back from the bed as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Sorry Deacon," she cleared her throat, "I suppose you want to talk to me alone?" 

"Some time alone with you? That sounds like a great idea," Deacon shot up from the chair and led the way outside, but MacCready bristled as Dawn was escorted out. Deacon noticed the sniper's reaction and shot him an amused grin. "Hey, don't get jealous. I can spend some alone time with you too if you ask nicely. There's enough of me to go around!" 

"You're not my type," MacCready spat as he crossed his arms, but this only earned another chuckle from the agent. 

"Suit yourself," Deacon waved goodbye as he left to follow Dawn, leaving MacCready alone in the bunker. 

With nothing else to do, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. With his head in his hands, MacCready released a large sigh as he reflected on the night before. Winlock somehow knew about the delivery of Duncan's cure, if he was to believe Carnes' word, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off. 

Regardless, he couldn't risk it. He was here for Duncan's safety and nothing else.  

His train of thought halted when he heard shuffling from outside, the sort of sound one would make if they wore ill-fitting slippers, followed by the dull thuds of a cane after each step. MacCready turned to the door again, but it seemed like an age before the source of the sound managed to reach the bunker entrance. 

MacCready groaned to himself when an old woman crouched through the doorframe, her lips smacking as she squinted into the room. 

Her scarfed head tilted as she looked around with surprise before her gaze rested on the sniper. 

"This isn't the bathroom," she announced. 

His jaw hung open at the declaration. "Uh, no. This isn't the bathroom." 

She nodded sagely as if his answer was the most profound thing she had ever heard. The old woman shrugged, then walked inside regardless if the bunkers was her destination. 

MacCready shifted on the bed uncomfortably, the mattress squeaking from the movement. He pointed to the centre of the room with uncertainty. "You're not gonna...ya'know, _go here_ , are you?" 

The old woman waved dismissively like she was batting an invisible fly, then proceeded to shuffle to the chair at the end of his bed. She released a long groan as she sat, cane laying across her lap, then leaned forward on her seat to stare at MacCready. 

He almost felt too intimidated to keep eye-contact, but it seemed like there was some invisible force at work which kept his own eyes locked to hers. But then her wrinkled lips curled back in a sneer, and for a second MacCready thought the old woman was about to berate him. 

She sneezed. 

"Bless you," he sighed. This old lady was probably too senile to function, so MacCready shook his head as he crossed the room to pick up his hat. 

"Sit down," she commanded, façade returning to her previously lost expression. 

His hat clenched tightly in his fist, he turned to the woman with irritation. Patience now wearing thin, MacCready obeyed. 

"Got any caps on ya?" She wheezed. 

He was confused again. "Yes?" 

"Good." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn deck of playing cards. She held them out to MacCready, a mischievous grin twinkling her eyes. "Do Mama Murphy a favour and shuffle these for me?" 

He obliged once again, and as he shuffled the cards in his hand he watched Mama Murphy reach into her pocket once more. A large handful of caps emerged and she placed it on the end of the bed. She shakily pointed at it. 

"Put some caps in the pool," she instructed as she took the deck back off him. With another exasperated sigh from MacCready, he counted out ten caps and added it to the pile. Mama Murphy tutted at his contribution while she dealt out the cards between them. "Don't be cheap, boy." 

"Name's MacCready," he groused as he rolled his eyes. Reluctantly, he paid ten more before he picked up his hand. "What are we playing?" 

"Dirty Deathclaw," she chuckled, "You go first, MacGreedy." 

" _MacCready_ _,_ " he corrected with a huff, but he chewed his lip as he picked up a card from the deck and studied his hand. He had a good line-up, and he confidently place down three cards. "Your move." 

Mama Murphy picked up a card from the deck, then stared at her own cards as she pouted. A snicker came from between those withered lips, and she lay her whole hand down. "I won," she announced and picked up all the caps from the pool. 

"W-what?" MacCready blinked stupidly as he leaned over to look at her set. He pointed an accusatory finger at the random jumble of cards. "No, you didn't! Your whole hand is completely random, none of them are sets!" 

But Mama Murphy tapped a knowing finger to her temple. "I know how to play," she chuckled again, "But I'm born with the Sight. I know when I will win and lose a game." 

"Bull!" He crossed his arms, but this only caused her to laugh harder. 

"Want me to prove it?" She challenged him with a wiggle of her brows, and all he could do was challenge her back with a glare of his own. "I know what you dreamt of last night." 

He felt himself bristle at her words, but he refrained from quipping back at her. Honestly, he felt more curious than annoyed, but at the same time he was sceptical of her possession of the Sight. MacCready released a strained sigh. "Go on..." 

She waited for a few moments before she spoke. "You were playing the guitar," Mama Murphy smacked her lips again as she adjusted her scarf, "Lucy loved it when you played. Never played again since you left your old home, though." 

It hit him. As soon as she said his wife's name his gut twisted and coiled. 

But Mama Murphy remained unfazed. She sneezed once again – an ungodly sound combined of a wheeze and a shout – before she settled in her chair. "Hit the nail on the head, didn't I?" Mama Murphy sniffed, "Do you want to play again?" 

MacCready shook himself from his stupor, and though he was a little freaked out, he thought about the last time he actually played a guitar. It was such a long time ago, and he was unsure if he could even remember how to tune a guitar should he ever come across one. 

"I dunno..." He scratched the back of his head, "I could probably play a few songs. Depends if I'm in the mood." 

Mama Murphy tutted. "Not the guitar, you fool. I meant another round of Dirty Deathclaw." 

"Oh," MacCready felt the tips of his ears heat up, and he shifted once more on the bed, "Sorry, I thought...you know what? Sure. Another round. _Properly_ , this time." 

She clapped a hand on her knee with glee, a wide smile crinkling her features as she glanced appreciatively at the young man. MacCready wordlessly shuffled the cards, then gave it back to Mama Murphy to deal. The pool of caps was at the end on his bed again, bigger this time in their contributions, and they played their cards fully until the end of the game. 

He was unsure of how much time had passed but playing cards with Mama Murphy was a welcome distraction, and it most certainly calmed him down from his previous anxiety. Their game had to end however, and the both of them paused as Preston slowly walked into the room. 

"Good to see that you're awake, MacCready," he greeted with a warm smile, then his smile faltered when he eyed the cards in their hands, "You're playing Dirty Deathclaw?" 

Mama Murphy snorted as she hid her face behind her fan of cards, peeking up only to give MacCready a sideward glance. "Don't tell him I'm here, kid," she whispered to the sniper, "Preston doesn't like me gambling." 

The minuteman laughed haughtily, and he took a seat on the next bed over while resting his elbows on his knees. "It's not the gambling I'm worried about, Mama Murphy," Preston shook his head affectionately before he turned to MacCready, "Did she swindle you too?" 

MacCready shrugged, though he glanced back at Mama Murphy in curiosity. She was still hiding her face with her hand, shoulders visibly shaking where she was trying to contain her laughter. Attention back at Preston, MacCready cleared his throat. "What do you mean by _swindle?_ " 

His question seemed to confirm Preston's suspicions, and the minuteman's dark eyes crinkled with mirth. "Her Sight only works on people," Preston explained, "She can't use it to predict whether she will win a game of cards, however." 

Another snort – but it was enough to break her silence – and Mama Murphy guffawed into her hand. MacCready shot her a glare, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. "I knew you were a dirty cheater!" He accused, a laugh lilting his words, "I want my twenty caps back!" 

Despite the laughter, despite the smiles, MacCready still had that annoying knot in his stomach. Suddenly, he felt like he didn't really belong to be amongst Dawn's companions. Preston and Mama Murphy carried on with their chatter while the young man reached into his pocket, pulling out his box of cigarettes. 

"Gonna go for a smoke," MacCready muttered as he trudged outside, feeling the sun warm the skin on his bare arms. He sparked up and leaned back on the wall behind him, closing his eyes as he tilted his head to the sky. 

He knew it was Preston when he came out to join him. 

"How are you holding up?" Preston asked. 

MacCready's answer was a noncommittal shrug. 

"I hear ya, buddy," the minuteman sighed, "Can't believe that the General is finally going to the Institute." 

Another deep drag of his cigarette, and MacCready hummed on the exhale. "When is she going?" 

"She said tonight." 

And that was all that was needed to be said between them. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Mac's anguish broke me. I'm sorry. 
> 
> I have this headcanon where Mama Murphy pretends to be really senile, and plays pranks on people she's never come across before. Headcanon number two; Preston is the one who was swindled out of the most amount of caps before he caught on to her tricks. He's still bitter about it to this day. 
> 
> This story had a strange sudden influx of attention lately, and I am actually overwhelmed with the amount of support and kind words you guys have given me. Can I just shout out a special mention to Lilacsbloom on FFnet for such an amazing review. Her kind words actually PUT TEARS TO MY EYES and it just really makes me appreciate everyone who reads this story. Thank you so much for reading this and giving me the encouragement to carry on writing! I love you guys! 
> 
> Until the next chapter! See you in two weeks!


	17. Chapter 17

He wanted to be alone.

MacCready wanted to be busy, but there was only so much he could do within Sanctuary. His gun was clean. Hunting would be pointless as there was more than enough food in storage. The only thing he could do was pick up his rifle and volunteer to patrol around the perimeter.

Preston initially objected against MacCready leaving the bunkers – an instruction from Dawn no doubt – but the minuteman was understanding. He knew that all the sniper wanted was space.

So, MacCready was left alone. Walking around the outskirts with his trusted rifle in his hands, his boots disturbing the dirt, and a heavy weight on his shoulders. He chewed absentmindedly at the cigarette between his lips, a trail of smoke following him as he trudged in whatever direction he felt like following. His pack was nearly empty – he had more in the bunkers – but he did not feel like going back into the settlement. Going back meant meeting more people.

He didn't want to know more of them.

His footsteps crunched through the dead leaves as he followed an old trail up the hill. A giant billboard shadowed him from the late afternoon sun, and when he looked up at it he felt a small twinge of hatred.

The billboard was rusted, panels were missing, and the colours were faded to the same dullness as the rest of the wasteland. Though the advertisement was tarnished and incomplete, he could still make out the painted scene of pre-war families happily walking towards the entrance of a vault. And that anger simmered within him when he thought of the experience told by Dawn.

He spat out the cigarette to the ground, then carried on walking.

MacCready ascended up the hill, taking care to not catch his already torn duster on the rusted wire fence, the fence being the barrier between Sanctuary and the entrance to Vault 111. None of the settlers ever had any need to come to this part of the settlement, so he knew he would not be disturbed as he made his way to the top.

Just like he thought, there was no-one there.

The graves Preston had dug up yesterday were now full, each one piled with a mound of dirt, and he walked up to one to see if there were any markings. A large rock was placed at the head of each grave, but none had any names.

MacCready sighed. He knew these graves were for the other vault dwellers, but one of them had to have been Dawn's husband. Nothing gave the identity of the graves – no mementos or flowers – and he wondered which one held the loving husband Dawn had missed so much.

A bitter taste rose to the back of throat when he remembered Lucy not having her own grave.

It wasn't something he should concern himself with. He forcefully placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it was he walked away. MacCready breathed in the smoke and made his way to the edge of the cliff, the outlook overseeing the whole of Sanctuary. The teleporter was in plain sight of the overlook, the metal structure tall and so out of place within the settlement, but he couldn't help but think that very machine is the gateway for Dawn to finally be reunited with her lost son.

He checked his watch. Late afternoon, and in a few hours, night would fall. Dawn will leave then.

The caw of a raven roused him from his stupor, and he looked up angrily at the source of the sound. There were trees by the vault entrance, and atop the splintery branches were a murder of crows. They tittered amongst themselves, but they watched him as he smoked.

Then, each one of them turned their heads and stared at the far end of the clearing. MacCready followed their gaze, a little concerned about the interest these birds have with watching people, and he felt himself freeze when he saw who was walking up the hill.

It was Dawn. A bottle of water in one hand, a small coffee tin in the other, and her gaze held firmly to the floor as she slowly made her way to the line of graves. MacCready thought about calling her name to grab her attention, but something within him stopped him from doing so. Instead, he watched her, transfixed as she knelt down among one grave and dug a small hole at the foot of one mound.

She reached into the coffee tin and grabbed a handful of seeds – he couldn't tell what kind they were – but she planted them carefully in the hole before covering it up with dirt. Dawn unscrewed the bottle and poured a little bit of water on top, then moved on to do the same thing on the next grave.

MacCready did not want to disturb her. This was meant to be a private moment for her, and MacCready already felt guilty for being so intrusive to the Minutemen. This was almost too much to watch, so he made his way quietly to the path which lead back to Sanctuary.

"You should be resting." She said, back still turned to MacCready.

He halted on the spot, rifle gripped firmly in his hands, but MacCready made himself turn to face her.

"I'm fine," he sighed, "Besides, I hate staying in bed."

Dawn hummed in reply, then carried on with her planting.

"You know," she began, "Deacon told me something."

His heart stopped then. MacCready knew that the Railroad agent _knew_ everything, and now his chest is tightening from being caught out. His heart jump started into a frenzy, thumping so loudly in his ears, but he's trying so hard to play it cool.

MacCready cleared his throat. "Really?" His voice strained as he tried to appear surprised. MacCready busied his hands by slinging his rifle to his back. "W-what did he tell you?"

Dawn gave him a side-wards glance – confusion evident in her expression – and her brow rose as she regarded him. She shook her head, like she was shaking away a passing thought, then dusted her hands as she stood back up. "Deacon gave me a proposition. Join the Railroad," she sighed as she surveyed the graves, "But...I dunno. I told him that I'll think about it. After I find my son, then maybe. But right now? No, I have too many plans with the Minutemen to focus on."

The thumping in his chest died down, but he could still feel the remnants of panic heating up his skin. MacCready took off his hat to run a hand through his hair. "What about the Brotherhood?" He tried to think back to the time he rescued Dawn from the Super Mutant ambush. "You held rank with those goons. Are you still Brotherhood or are you...y'know, Minutemen? Minutewoman? Uh, Minutelady?"

Dawn snorted where she tried to hold back a laugh. " _Minutemen,_ Robert," her grin stretched wider, "And as for the Brotherhood of Steel, I don't actually know where I lie with them. I only joined them for protection at first. Paladin Danse was a great mentor – taught me a lot around survival – but I just couldn't get myself to accept their...their ideals. Their _morals._ "

"I know what you mean," he nodded in agreement. With the shit they caused back in the Capital Wasteland, the Brotherhood had left a bitter taste amongst the locals of DC. "So, what makes you want to stick with the Minutemen?"

She hummed in thought as she mulled over her answer. "I suppose it's because of the cause they fight for," Dawn flashed him a quick smile, but it was forced, "They existed for the people. It was never about anything else – not with what Preston taught me – but it's about protecting the people from...from all of the _wrongs_ in the Wasteland. If I wanted to be part of a cause...to raise my son with a cause that _truly mattered,_ it would be them _._ That's why I chose the Minutemen."

Dawn released a heavy sigh, and they both relished in the silence that followed. Her words hung in the air – a statement that both of them truly believed in – and MacCready had nothing else to say to that. It was like every word she said had rung true to his own beliefs, but he also felt bitter. _Bitter,_ and regret, because he made the mistake of joining a faction for caps.

The Gunners was a mistake. He joined because of caps. Not for a cause which was higher than himself, but for measly, selfish _caps._ The cigarette he was smoking was now burnt to the filter, and he spat it out before crushing the embers with his boot.

"You sound like Hancock," he muttered, but it most certainly was not an insult. He respected Hancock, a ghoul of true honour.

"Thanks," she said, and judging by her smile she took it as a compliment. "Of the people, for the people."

"Yeah, that's the motto."

More silence. Dawn took it upon herself to finish planting seeds into the rest of the unmarked graves. MacCready watched her as she worked, his eye occasionally glancing at the rings which hung loosely around her neck.

He took out another cigarette and lit it. "Which one is your husband?"

Dawn shrugged. "I honestly don't know," she sighed once more, "But I prefer it that way. Nate wasn't the only one who died because of the Great War. Everyone suffered because of it, even now. They all deserve to be mourned the same way I mourn for my husband."

A large puff of smoke blew into the air, and a light breeze carried the smoke away. He craned his neck to look into the coffee tin by Dawn's side. "What seeds are they? I don't recognize 'em."

"Sunflower seeds," she said simply, "I found them when I was looting an old bakery. Perfectly preserved. I dunno, I never planted them before so I hope these will actually grow, and _if_ they do grow then I can only hope that they grow into actual sunflowers and not some mutated mess."

"What are sunflowers?" MacCready tried to wrack his brain, but he could only assume it was another thing lost to the Great War.

"A pre-war flower," another smile grew from her lips, "My grandmother used to have them in her backyard. She said that looking at them always gave her hope."

"Hope?" Another puff of smoke.

She replied with an embarrassed laugh. "Oh my God, this sounds so corny..." Dawn cleared her throat as she wiped her hands on her jeans. "Sunflowers have this, this _thing_ , where they always face the sun. Granny always told me that no matter how awful the weather was outside, no matter how bad the soil was, sunflowers would always face the sun. And if it's overcast with thick clouds, they still know where the sun is. Plus, when they fully bloom they look like the sun – big and bright yellow – so they always shined in her backyard, so to speak."

Each grave was now accounted for, all of them planted with sunflower seeds. A small part of MacCready really wanted them to grow, to see what they looked like when they bloom, but he doubted he would be around long enough to see them mature. Dawn looked wistfully upon her work, unperturbed by MacCready's sullied mood, and then turned back to face him.

"So, Robert," she began, "Tell me more about Duncan. What's he like?"

He nearly choked on his cigarette at the sudden change of topic, but he blew out an uneven cloud of smoke instead. "What do you want to know?"

Dawn shrugged. "Anything, really," her eyes were then cast to the ground as she shuffled her feet, "Maybe, after I find Shaun, he could use a friend. You don't come across a lot of children in the Commonwealth."

His gut twisted a little at her confession. "Well, Duncan...he's..." It's been a year since he last saw his son. "He's four now. You know, it's kinda funny. You hired me on his birthday..." He trailed off as he remembered how long he was travelling with Dawn.

"So, he's four years old and..." Dawn quickly checked her Pip-Boy, "Four years and two months? Wow, only two months we've been travelling together? Feels like longer."

He scoffed. "You're not sick of me already, are you?"

"No, no!" She chuckled under her breath. "Feels like we've been partners forever, that's all. Anyway, about Duncan?"

"Duncan is a good kid," MacCready smiled as he reminisced on happier times with Lucy, "He likes it when I read comic books to him. I try to do different voices for different characters, but he always gets mad when I forget which voice belongs to who, y'know, get them all mixed up and what not. Duncan also loves drawing. Sometimes he draws his favourite comic book character – taught himself by tracing them at first – and then he gets mad when I don't hang them up on the wall the way he likes."

Dawn laughed at this, and MacCready flashed her a quick smile before he carried on. "One time he drew a picture of me dancing with a brahmin – yeah, I was confused too – and he wanted me to hang it in his bedroom. No matter where I place it, he was like _Daddy, you put it up wrong_ or _Daddy, you're putting it up too high!_ "

More laughter, and he watched that familiar dimple form on her cheek. Dawn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as her laughter died down. "I'd love to meet him," she confessed as she looked back up at MacCready, but she faltered once again as her gaze fell back to the floor. "Robert, please, go see your son. Duncan needs you more than I do, and I can't take you with me to the Institute. Sturges told me that the teleporter works only for one person, so it would be unfair to leave you waiting around instead of you leading a new life with Duncan."

For some reason, her words stung him. He took the time to think over his answer before he replied. "Dawn, I made a promise with you. I'll help you find your son, and not only that, I want to make sure that the both of you will be safe after you're reunited," he sighed, and though what he was saying were lies, he couldn't help but feel that he was also speaking the truth. "I don't want to leave without knowing what's happening with...with you. I just...I just want to make sure you and your son settle down safely in the Commonwealth. I already know how to live in the wasteland, you don't. I want to be there to help you get back on your feet."

It was strange for him to say that. There was no guilt, no remorse, and the small smile on his lips did not feel at all forced. MacCready quickly backpedalled his thoughts and swiftly dumped his hat back on his head, the visor pulled low over his brow. He quickly looked over at her to gauge her reaction.

Dawn's expression was unreadable at this point.

"I would do anything to see Shaun," she sighed, and that was when the guilt crawled its way back into MacCready's chest.

Last night came to mind, the image of Carnes' walking away into the night caused the anger in MacCready's gut to stir. He clenched his jaw as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his box of smokes. Deft hands opened it and held it out to Dawn, and she gave it some consideration before she plucked out a cigarette. MacCready took out his lighter and held out the flame to the stick between her lips, and once sparked she closed her eyes on the inhale.

"So..." She began on the exhale, tendrils of smoke snaking around her, "Where is Duncan right now?"

"He's staying with an old friend of mine," he watched her as she took another puff, "He was the only adult that has ever stepped foot within Little Lamplight, a vault dweller like you. But...he keeps his location secret. After the incident with the Enclave and Project Purity, he chose to go into hiding. Even so, he is the only one – besides Lucy, anyway – who I could trust to look after him while I'm away."

Dawn dropped her cigarette to the floor and pressed her foot to douse the embers. "So how did Daisy know where to send the cure?"

"Oh, even Daisy doesn't know exactly where he is. But he has friends, too. Daisy sends my letters to them and then they pass it along to the Lone Wanderer," MacCready sighed, frustrated with the possibility of Winlock also knowing Duncan's location.

"The Lone Wanderer..." She mused, "Sounds like something straight out of a Wild West movie. Does he have a name?"

MacCready waggled a finger, a smirk twisting his mouth. "Sorry, Dawn. Can't tell you that. It's a preference of his to tell you his name personally, so you're just gonna have to call him the Lone Wanderer from now on."

"Ooh, how mysterious," she laughed, but she slowly reverted back. "Is that why you can't go back to Duncan right now? Because you also don't know where he is?"

He was tired of lying to her. "Yes...and no."

"No?"

"Well, it's just..." He groaned, "It's real complicated, Dawn. I can't...I just can't explain it right now."

A small hum came from her lips, then it was silent between them again. He hated the silence now, he hated not being able to tell what she was thinking when she had that faraway look in her eyes. A caw could be heard from the ravens behind him, and he had almost forgotten about their presence as he looked at them crowd up upon the dead trees.

The noises they were making were starting to grate on him.

"Hey, Dawn," he squinted his eyes from the sun, "You always get ravens here?"

She looked up to follow his line of sight. "Yeah, there's always ravens around," she tutted, "God, those things are everywhere in the Commonwealth. Radgulls, too. There's so many birds, and when I first left the vault I was so paranoid about being followed by them. If my aim wasn't so bad I would have shot every one of them by now."

"That why you always use a shotgun?"

"Yeah," she seemed disappointed, "I'm okay close range, at least a shotgun has a wide spray. I'm awful with ranged weapons though, my accuracy is pretty bad."

MacCready chewed his lip at this. He quickly unslinged his rifle, making sure that his weapon was prepped before he held it out to Dawn. She gave it an apprehensive gaze, but when MacCready gave her an encouraging nod she took it carefully from him. His rifle looked even bigger as she weighed it in her hands.

"I can teach you how to properly aim a rifle," he suggested, "Right now, if you've got the time."

Her face lit up, and she positively beamed up at him. "Sure."

* * *

It had been a few hours now. The sun was starting to make its descent into the horizon, but there was still enough light for Dawn and MacCready to practice their shooting. They both chose to train by the river, empty bottles lined up on the riverbank opposite them. MacCready stood behind her, a cigarette between his lips as he watched over Dawn.

"Relax your shoulders," he reminded. Dawn nodded as she lifted the stock of his rifle to her shoulder.

Dawn shot once more, but the bottles remained intact. She huffed with frustration.

"Shit..." Dawn handed the rifle back to MacCready. "This is a lot harder that I thought."

"Not really," he shrugged as he took hold of his weapon, "You need to stop tensing so much when you stare down the sights. Tensing would only cause you to get tired, and when your muscles are tired your arms will shake and throw off your aim. You gotta relax, keep your shoulders loose. Here, watch my stance."

Chewing slightly on the butt of his cigarette, his blue eyes slowly peeked through his eyelashes as he watched through the sights of his rifle. His finger on the trigger, his breath halting to steady his aim – MacCready took the shot. The crack of his rifle sounded, followed by the echo of a bottle shattering in the distance. He turned lazily to the vault dweller next to him with a smirk.

"That," he drawled, "is how you aim."

Dawn scoffed, but she looked back at him with a smirk of her own. "Such a show off," she snickered.

"Me?" He balked. "C'mon, what normal guy wouldn't show off in front of a pretty girl?"

"Ugh," she wrinkled her nose, "A show off _and_ a terrible flirt. Remind me why I'm always around you again?"

MacCready snorted at her response. "You're the one who hired me, Boss."

"Back to Boss, now?" Dawn shook her head, the smirk growing mischievously. "Okay, hotshot. As much as I would love to keep up our shooting lesson, it's getting dark."

He knew what that meant. He eyed the teleporter in the distance.

"I guess this is it," he sighed. MacCready carefully looked over his rifle before slinging it to his back again.

Dawn shuffled nervously, a hand quickly tucking back a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah..." She swallowed thickly. "This is it."

Dawn turned on her heel, leaving MacCready alone on the riverbank and she walked off back to Sanctuary. Something within him didn't want to end it there as he stared at her back.

"Hey, Dawn!" He called out, and she halted her step as she looked back over her shoulder. MacCready flashed her a quick smile. "Good luck!"

She smiled back.

Then she carried on her trek in the direction of the teleporter.

* * *

His box of cigarettes was empty. MacCready grunted as he pocketed it as he stood back upon the vault entrance on the hill. The ravens were gone now that it was night, and MacCready watched anxiously as the teleporter in the distance began to whir and spark.

He could see Dawn step onto the podium.

Then a blinding flash, like blue lightning, and Dawn was gone.

The teleporter stood empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear...
> 
> Oh dear oh dear oh dear OH DEAR!
> 
> I'm looking at my notes and I am dreading the next set of chapters. What a shit show. I just hope that the themes I'm planning to write will be done justice. I've also changed the rating to Mature, since I've revised the story plan for the millionth time now. But once again, I hope that I could execute the themes in the story well.
> 
> I'll tell you what, I couldn't have gotten this far without the support from you guys! This is the biggest fic I've ever written, and it is daunting with the planning involved, but the encouragement you guys have given has helped me SO MUCH! Honestly, words cannot express how grateful I am to have you!
> 
> Thank you so much!


	18. Chapter 18

Trails of smoke drifted into the air as MacCready walked up to the teleporter. He felt unhinged as he observed the structure; what was once formidable now a smoking ruin of twisted metal and plastic. The platform where Dawn had stood was still pristine and uncharred, but the he still felt unease at the possibility of the teleporter malfunctioning during Dawn's transit to the Institute. 

MacCready's sentiment was shared amongst the settlers, each of them hushed with a mixture of anxiety and awe. Sturges was not silent – instead he whispered to Preston – but the two men stopped when they noticed MacCready. 

"Hey," the sniper cleared his throat as he approached them, "Was that explosion supposed to happen?" 

Sturges shrugged before he raised a gloved hand to itch the back of his neck. "Well, I'll be real honest with ya, we didn't exactly know what we were expecting," he looked at Preston with uncertainty, "But despite the fancy fireworks, the teleporter was successful. The General's been delivered to the co-ordinates, safe and sound." 

Relief washed over MacCready, but the gnawing feeling in his gut remained. 

"When will she be back?" He asked the two with the hope of one of them somehow knowing. 

But his answer was reticence from the Minutemen. 

Preston was the one to stop the silence. "The General went in there blind. None of us know what is in the Institute, but we can only hope that the General is safe and that she comes back alive." 

MacCready sighed as he looked back at the ruined teleporter, the crackle of thunder still fresh in his mind. 

"Yeah..." He turned on his heel and sauntered up to the bunkers. 

_Me too._  

* * *

 

Weeks passed. MacCready did not know exactly how long it had been since Dawn left for the Institute. Life carried on as usual in Sanctuary, but the unease lingered with the Minutemen. Preston was the acting General in Dawn's absence, and he did his duties well, but the Minutemen were expanding their reach, and new recruits and militia were always joining the cause. 

It gave the sniper something to do. Patrolling the perimeter was no longer MacCready's only job. Besides hunting and helping Sturges with cooking for the settlers, his new task was to train the new fighters with sharpshooting. 

After his lessons, MacCready would buy a box of cigarettes from Trashcan Carla, then walked up the hill to the graves. He smoked in peace there. 

The hill was seldom visited by anyone else except MacCready, a perfect spot if he wanted to be alone and undisturbed. MacCready surveyed the area as he smoked, a keen eye focused on the graves when his glance passed over to them.  

But this time, something was different.  

Something caught his eye – bright green and slowly swaying in the wind – and he walked closer to one of the graves to inspect it. 

There, a stark contrast to the usual vegetation of the wastelands, a small sprout of Dawn's sunflower was growing at the foot of one mound. 

He knelt down to look at it. It was a very small thing, just a stalk with budding leaves, but it was undeniably alive and growing. He reached to his belt to unhook his flask, unscrewed the cap, and poured some water on it with the hope it could continue to grow. 

A small part of him wanted to see what they would look like after they bloom. Another part of him anticipated how Dawn would react with her little project. Perhaps, when Dawn returned with her son, she would be happy to see something else from before the war. 

The cigarette he was smoking was burnt to the filter. He dropped it to the ground and pressed his boot over the embers, then checked his watch. It was noon, the end of his shift. 

With a sigh he walked back to Sanctuary, not quite knowing what he should do with himself for the rest of the day. He spotted Mama Murphy amble down the street, and he quickly pulled his hat lower over his brow and prayed to whatever god for the old coot to not notice him. He had already lost enough caps to her from playing Dirty Deathclaw. 

"Hey, MacCready!" 

He turned to the source of the sound and found himself surprised to see Jun Long wave at him from one of the wooden shacks. The sniper walked up to him, being mindful to avoid Mama Murphy's peripheral, then gave Jun a curt nod as he approached the meek man. 

"What's up?" MacCready said with a forced smile, but the expression was genuinely returned by Jun. 

"I need some help with moving some scrap," Jun said as he pointed down the end of the street. MacCready followed his line of sight and saw a large pile of wood stacked up by the ruins of a pre-war house. 

" _Some?_ " He groused. "What you gonna do with all of that timber?" 

Jun shrugged. "I don't know, maybe build another shack of some kind," he scratched the back of his neck, causing his black hair to stick up awkwardly at his nape. "Maybe another guard post of some kind...I dunno, something like that." 

MacCready hummed in thought as he was suddenly struck with inspiration. 

"You know, this place could do with a high guard tower," MacCready then pointed at a clearing where the teleporter used to be. "Over there would be good. It's got a great vantage point, and if any enemies are spotted you will already be within earshot of all the settlers here if you need to raise an alarm." 

Jun regarded the space with a thoughtful look on his features. He nodded after consideration, mind now made as he gave MacCready a brief smile. "That's a good idea," he swept his fringe from his eyes as he scrutinised the scrap pile. "I think there's enough materials there to build one. You wanna help out with that instead?" 

MacCready looked upon the pile. He sighed, then proceeded to remove his duster. "Sure." 

A small smile lifted Jun's lips at MacCready's answer, then the two men busied themselves with salvaging the pile of scrap. MacCready was a lot more methodical than Jun, the activity bringing some form of nostalgia to his time back in Little Lamplight. The other kids would get stuck in with rebuilding or modifying the scrap walls inside his old settlement, and as Mayor he was the main motivator. MacCready lead by example, and he made sure that everyone was involved with something. 

Jun followed MacCready's lead as they worked, and after some time had passed the beginnings of a guard tower stood proudly within Sanctuary. 

"Okay..." MacCready hummed as he surveyed the work in progress. "We'll stop for now, rest up for a bit." 

A large huff blew from Jun's lips, grateful for the break as he wiped some sweat from his brow. The sniper pulled out his cigarettes and held one stick between his lips. He offered the open box to Jun, but he declined with a polite shake of his head. Instead, Jun momentarily disappeared into a nearby shack before returning with a Nuka Cola in each hand. 

"Plain or Cherry?" Jun offered. 

"Just plain," MacCready nodded as he took the outstretched bottle. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Jun said as he observed MacCready uncap his bottle with the lighter. The mercenary pocketed the bottlecap before he took a large swig of his drink. "So, tell me more about yourself, MacCready." 

MacCready gulped his mouthful audibly as he blanched at Jun. It was an innocent question, but it still took him by surprise. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips as an effort to compose himself before answering. "What's there to tell?" 

"Well...y'know, anything?" Jun shrugged as he sipped his own drink. 

"Anything? Okay," MacCready coughed to clear his throat. "I like whiskey and I enjoy long walks on the beach." 

The reply made Jun chuckle. "I believe the whiskey part. Are you always this sarcastic to the General?" 

MacCready shrugged again. He perched himself against the guard tower before plonking down his soda by his boots. Sure, he was always sarcastic, but when he thought back on the time he spent travelling with his employer he felt that his sarcasm had waned into friendly teasing. Less pedantic, more jokey. "She hired me as a bodyguard, unfortunately the snark is part of the package. No refunds. Plus, I hate the beach. Seafood gives me gas." 

More laughter from Jun, and MacCready realised that this was the happiest he had ever seen of the older man. Jun huffed out a sigh as he wiped a tear from his eye. "You're pretty funny, you know that? Must be why the General travels with you a lot." 

This time MacCready choked on his cigarette. He spluttered out puffs of smoke, his throat hoarse from the strain. Jun watched him in confusion – each of MacCready's reactions was unexpected and involuntary – but MacCready reigned himself in to seem as unbothered as possible. "A lot?" The young man cleared his throat once more, "She not travelling around with Preston or?" 

"She did, in the beginning anyway," Jun sipped from his bottle in thought. "But with the Minutemen finally getting back on its feet, they both have gotten busy with their own plans. Preston wants to recruit more Minutemen, and the General wants to become allies with more settlements, plus...y'know...also to find her son. Preston can only do so much." 

A small pit formed in MacCready's stomach at the mention of Dawn's son, and with the time passed since Dawn left he hoped that she found who she was looking for. Thinking about her reminded him of Duncan – he was desperate to find out whether or not the cure had worked – but he quickly took himself out of his reverie. He inhaled one last drag of his cigarette before he snuffed it out on the ground.  

MacCready scooped up his cola as he straightened himself back upright and regarded Jun. "You happy with Dawn being General?"  

Jun nodded without hesitation. "She's good, she cares about us. Marcy is still untrusting of her, but with what we went through in Quincy I wouldn't blame her for being that way." 

A quick and candid reply, and despite knowing the Quincy massacre was a recent event MacCready somehow understood how Jun was feeling. The depression, the desperation, and finally numbness which followed the acceptance of whatever tragedy had hit. It had been two years since MacCready lost Lucy, a painful loss which he had accepted, but he couldn't bring himself to imagine being in Jun's shoes.  

MacCready swigged the last of his drink before he set the empty bottle back to the ground. "I heard you lost your son," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I'm so sorry." 

Jun didn't answer immediately. Instead he nodded whilst he stared at the half empty bottle in his hands, his expression so sombre it made him look much older than he was. "It's okay," he shrugged, a reply so nonchalant it was wonder if he had practiced being so disconnected. "Well, not really, but...uh...you get what I mean. Losing Kyle was...it was hard."  

There was silence between the two. Nothing more needed to be said. 

Jun remained deep in thought, but something pulled him back out of his reverie and he faced MacCready with a small smile. "Marcy wants to have another child," he confessed, "She collects baby clothes and formula where she can, but it's impossible to have another baby now. Marcy is still in denial about it, but we knew since Kyle was born. There were complications during childbirth, so Kyle was going to be our first and last. I... I-I should have protected my son better." 

"Hey, I'm sure you did all you can," MacCready gave Jun a small nudge with his elbow. "You don't have to tell me anything else if it brings up bad memories." 

Another weak smile, but Jun looked grateful. "Thanks," he sighed. "You...do you have any family?" 

"Uh...yes. Yes," MacCready took in a deep breath as he contemplated telling Jun his story. He felt slightly guilty for holding himself back from Dawn, but he was tired of lying and keeping secrets. The least he could do was return the trust back to Jun. "I have a son, Duncan. He's four." 

"Only your son?" 

MacCready nodded as looked down at his boots. "Yeah." 

Jun copied the action. "I'm sorry too." 

Another pause, but the pit in MacCready's gut had dropped lower as he thought of Duncan. He missed his little boy, and he was close to losing his son if it weren't for Dawn's help.  

It was Jun who spoke up first. "Why are you so invested with the Minutemen?" 

The mercenary shrugged. "I'm only hired to be here. The Minutemen are important to the Boss." 

"Ah," Jun huffed out short laugh. "You mean, the Minutemen are important to _Dawn._ " 

The tips of his ears began to go red, and MacCready quickly busied himself with looking over the guard tower with the hope that Jun didn't notice. He spotted a large plank of wood amongst the pile of scrap before he strode over to it. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Same thing. Hey, help me lift this up." 

* * *

 

Sturges had cooked a delicious meal once again, and although the meat was molerat, it was prepared and seasoned into something far more appetising. MacCready never knew just how hungry he was until he looked forlornly at his empty plate, satisfied with the meal but dissatisfied with how he didn't take the time to savour it. 

With a heavy sigh, MacCready sat himself up and placed his empty plate into a basket of dirty dishes. He knew Marcy would return to collect them, but he didn't want to hang around long enough for her to appear. She seemed to always snap and berate him whenever he was nearby, so avoidance was his only option. 

It was a beautiful evening, clear skies and an undisturbed view of the stars above, and he made his way over to the hill to smoke a cigarette before he turned himself in for the night. As he walked by the graves he peeked over to check if the sprouting sunflower was still there. 

It was, small and still impossibly bright green, but no bigger than it was before. 

"Thought I might find you here." 

MacCready whipped himself round to face the source of the voice. It was Preston, laser musket in hand and a smirk on his kind face. An annoyed huff blew from MacCready's lips before he could stop himself, but the reaction only amused Preston further. The minuteman smiled as he stepped up to the mercenary's side. 

"Good work on the new guardtower, MacCready." Preston clapped a hand onto the other's shoulder. "Strategically it's a good place to be. Thanks for helping us out." 

MacCready shrugged noncommittedly as he forced another cigarette between his lips. A quick flick of his lighter, and he blew out a steady stream of smoke. "Don't thank me," he said, cigarette bouncing on his lip as he spoke. "I've been meaning to ask for a while now, have you heard anything from the Gunners since...y'know, since Dawn's little negotiation?" 

The smile faded from Preston's face, instead a thoughtful expression appeared as he paused. "They've kept up their end of the bargain," he shook his head with a disappointed sigh, "Sunshine Tidings is one of our farming settlements. Half of our produce has gone over to Mass Pike, and the Gunners have stayed away from this end of the Commonwealth. It's not ideal, but it's enough." 

"Don't trust them," MacCready spat out with more force than he wanted. A small cloud of smoke huffed out from his outburst. He quickly cleared his throat before he continued. "Gunners will only play nice if they want something in return. Their deals are never fair. Besides, what would the Minutemen do if the Gunners decide to cut the deal and attack anyway? Do you guys have the numbers and the defences to stop them?" 

This disturbed Preston, and he visibly paled at the thought. Preston made a defeated sigh, and the man's shoulders slumped as he looked down at his laser musket. "To be honest, no," Preston took in a deep breath as he thought over his words. "The Minutemen don't have the numbers like we used to. At the moment we're relying on allies with nearby settlements, and direct recruitment is slow since Quincy. The General is trying her best to change that...but the people are scared. If things go wrong, the people want to be on the winning side." 

MacCready blew out a long stream of smoke as he eyed the sunflower sprout. Of course, people wanted to be on the winning side, and with the Quincy massacre all but destroying the Minutemen and giving the Gunners a huge advantage, the Minutemen were not people's first choice if they needed to hire protection. He dropped his finished smokes to the ground and pressed his boot to snuff out the embers. 

"Any sign of Dawn returning?" MacCready said as he turned to Preston. 

Preston slowly shook his head. "No. We have no way of knowing if she's even alive at this point." 

The sniper nodded in understanding. "How long did she tell you to wait before you have to presume her dead?" 

"One month." 

"Ah..." MacCready adjusted his hat for lack of a better reply. "How long has it been now?" 

A sardonic chuckle was forced from Preston's lips. He shook his head once more. "Would'a thought you'd count the days, with the way you always stick to her," he watched MacCready's jaw clench at the quip, "But it's been three weeks. If we don't hear anything from her by next week, the title of General is passed down to me." 

MacCready thought back on the time Dawn gave him the same instruction when they were with the Brotherhood. If Dawn didn't return within a week, then MacCready was to take his last payment and go. At the time he felt mostly annoyed by the notion...but now? He remembered how he told himself to not get too close, to distance himself from her. He clenched his jaw when he realised how badly he held himself back, because now he had a huge pit in his gut at the thought Dawn being dead. 

Although he never verbally told anyone, he was worried. He wanted her to be safe and reunited with her lost son. 

MacCready pushed his visor down over his brow as he shook the thought from his head. The muscle in his temple twitch as he clenched his jaw once more, and when he looked back up at Preston he saw the Minuteman look at him with anxious curiosity. 

"Everything okay, MacCready?" Preston prompted with that familiar gentle concern. 

"Yeah, fine..." The sniper blew out a defeated sigh as he gave him a noncommittal shrug. "Hey, uh, I'm... I'm gonna be gone for maybe a week or so. There's a few things I've gotta do, so if Dawn comes back and I'm still gone just tell her that..." _That what?_ That he missed her? That he's glad she's safe? He hastily cleared his throat before finishing. "Uh, tell her that I'll be back and that I won't be too long." 

Preston nodded with understanding. "Sure. Where are you going?" 

"Goodneighbour." A simple reply, innocent enough for Preston but enough for Dawn to know the true meaning behind the visit. "I'll be gone tomorrow." 

Another nod, and both of them slowly walked back to Sanctuary to turn in for the night. 

"Just be safe on your travels," Preston said with a soft smile. "Don't want the General to be too worried about you while you're gone." 

A bitter laugh bubbled up from MacCready's throat as he gave Preston a sideward glance. "Yeah, well, I'm sure she could do with a break from me." 

Preston grinned with amusement as he gave the young man a hard pat on the back. "Whatever you say." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: Sorry that this was stupidly late. Originally this chapter would have actually been double its size, so I had to split this into two. I've essentially written the drafts up to chapter 20 but I've had to add some extra bits to add a bit more impact for a headcannon I've got planned coming up. After adding some bits to this chapter it got too long so I've split up the content a bit more between the next few chapters. 
> 
> That probably didn't make any sense. I'm so tired. 
> 
> I've got a lot of work coming up and a few things I've got to sort out at home. I'll be honest, I'm a bit short on time at the moment so I'm sorry that updates are really sporadic. I'm just counting the days until my two weeks holiday to Spain at the end of the month. I'll have ALL of the time to really concentrate on this fic so you'll probably see some chapters being churned out during then. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and for your kind comments and messages! And a huge thank you for bearing with me! I love you guys and I'll see you soon!


	19. Chapter 19

Goodneighbor has most certainly worn out its welcome within five minutes of MacCready stepping foot through the gates. The familiar smell of piss and garbage permeated the smoke filled air, and his boots crunched against some broken glass as he strode over to Daisy's shop.

Daisy was busily rearranging her stock on the shelves behind the counter, and she hummed an old pre-war tune as she worked, but as soon as her black eyes lifted to meet MacCready's, she stopped mid tune. A huge smile stretched across her leathery face, and MacCready grinned back in kind.

"Good to see you again, Robert!" She greeted with glee. Daisy put aside the left over stock and leant her elbows on the counter. "So, what brings you to these parts?"

MacCready chuckled under his breath and removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. "You know me, Daisy. I can't stay away from my favourite gal for too long."

She guffawed at his statement. "Flirt all you want, I ain't giving you a lower discount than you already got. Might as well be throwing my wares at you for free," she shook her head as she returned to fixing up her shop. "Besides, I don't want to make K-L-EO jealous. Damn thing already has her wires in a twist over you travelling with that Minutemen General... ah, what's her name? Darla?"

"Dawn." He corrected as he quickly glanced over to the gun shop next door. Thankfully, the robot in question was not there, and only a lone drifter was leaning on the corner of the building with his arms crossed. MacCready turned back to Daisy with uncertainty. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Daisy's voice was muffled as she buried her head into a shipment crate. "Ask away!"

"You...uh," he cleared his throat as he thought over his next words. "You know you sent Duncan's cure back up to DC? Well, I just wanna know if that was delivered safely. I know you said that the caravan was your most trusted but...y'know..." He trailed off his sentence with a sheepish shrug.

The air hung with brief silence before Daisy stepped back up to the counter. "It's all delivered, safe and sound, last I heard. Made sure that they had three guards instead of the one," she flashed a crooked smile as she studied him. "Please don't worry, Robert. I know you've been away from your son for a long time, but your hard work has paid off. You got the cure and Duncan is safe. Like I said to you last time; you did it!"

Daisy reached out to rest her weathered hand on MacCready's shoulder, her grip tight but reassuring as she gave him a quick squeeze. "Robert, as soon as you've finished your current job, go back home and see your kid. You ain't got no reason to stay here."

Her words struck him with a sudden onset of guilt. He'd heard those very same words from Dawn before she left, but this time it had sunk deeper into his gut and weighed him down. He could hear his heart thump loudly in his ears, a horrible feeling which shook him to his core.

"I can't, Daisy," he said, voice strained. "There's something that I still need to do."

She didn't pry, but he could tell from the look in her black eyes that she picked up on his distress. A sigh rattled from between her chapped lips, then she bent down to retrieve something from behind the counter. She placed it in front of him, a dusty box with faded lettering, but he could recognize the packaging anywhere.

A box of .308 bullets.

"Take this," she said. "I can only guess that you'll need them with whatever you're planning."

* * *

Another long trek, and despite his aching legs protesting every step of his journey, MacCready finally stopped when the familiar overpass came into view.

The highway blocked out the setting sun, casting him in a crooked shadow as he sat down to rest. MacCready swigged from his water flask before capping it, then he placed the flask into his rucksack as he thought over his next plan of action.

His keen blue eyes scanned the Mass Pike Interchange as he scouted out the area.

"Dang..." He sighed as he observed all of the fortifications the place had since his last visit to the Gunner outpost. It was basically a fortress in the sky, turrets placed strategically everywhere and numerous recruits patrolled the vicinity. It would be incredibly difficult to take down this outpost, most certainly an impossible feat for him to achieve on his own.

Resigned with loss of hope, he scrapped his plan to take out the Mass Pike Interchange. He had to go with his contingency – to talk to Winlock and Barnes himself.

A strained groan was uttered as he heaved himself up to stand. It was now or never.

* * *

The elevator screeched to a stop as it reached the highest point. The engine spluttered before a nearby gunner turned it off, then beckoned MacCready to step up onto the overpass. It was strange being back at his old outpost, but thankfully one of the patrolmen on the ground recognized him before they shot him down.

After some persuading, MacCready was finally granted access to Mass Pike.

A Gunner Private stepped up to MacCready, his green eyes scrutinizing the young sniper with a mixture of uncertainty and intrigue.

"So..." The Private grunted MacCready as he shook his head. "I guess you're the inside-man that's been giving Winlock and Barnes all that intel. Was expecting someone older and not some jumped up kid."

MacCready grit his teeth, but he quickly bit back the insult. "Where are they? I need to speak to them."

The terseness in MacCready's reply did not go unnoticed, and the Private scratched his black beard as he studied the sniper once more. "Huh, I ain't gonna argue with ya. Clearly, you've been through some shit," he paused as his smirk grew wider, "look like shit too. Anyway, Barnes is out on patrol, but Winlock is in the back shack."

MacCready didn't want to waste any more time. He barged past the Private as he made his way over to the shack in question. There were so many new recruits who he didn't recognize. New faces outweighed the veterans – some remembered the young sniper for teaching them long range shooting – but none of them spoke to MacCready. Only the odd nods and prolonged eye-contact were the acknowledgement he received from old squad mates.

It didn't take long before MacCready stalked up to the back of the outpost. A large shack built from wood and salvage was tucked back in the far corner of the station, defended with a machinegun turret which overlooked the vicinity from its high perch. A power armour station was parked by the shack entrance, and crouched by one of the war machines was none other than Winlock.

Winlock clocked on to MacCready straight away, and a grimace twisted the Gunner leader's features at the sight of one of his deserters.

"Well, look who's come crawling back from the gutter," Winlock said as he threw his wrench to the concrete. It clattered audibly on impact. "The fuck are you doing here? Oh wait, lemme guess. You screwed up, blew your cover with the Minutemen, and now you're dragging your ass back here like the lily-livered coward you are."

"My cover ain't blown," MacCready snapped. "I'm here for something else."

Winlock shrugged as he wiped his oil-stained hands on his combat fatigues. "Doesn't change the fact you're still lily-livered."

MacCready said nothing – he knew better than to rise to the bait – and instead he strode up to Winlock without emotion. If this was his only chance to fix the mess he made, he would do his utmost best to ensure his bad attitude wouldn't ruin his possibilities.

"Deal's off, Winlock," MacCready said, voice steady and dauntless.

But his tone still irked the Gunner, and Winlock outright sneered at the deserter before him.

"You don't make demands here, boy," The infuriation in Winlock's words were enough to cause the veins in his neck pop out. Before Winlock could say another word MacCready had pulled out a tightly wrapped package from his pack – the familiar clink of caps resounded from the rough handling – and he threw it effortlessly to his previous boss. Winlock caught it with both hands, surprised by the weight of it, but he seemed to remember himself before he looked back at MacCready with suspicion. "Start talking."

"Debt's paid," MacCready said simply, his arms now crossed as he stared intensely at Winlock. "That totals four thousand caps. No more debt, no more deal."

It was all of his savings; every last cap, but it was worth it. MacCready felt a great weight lift from his chest as he stated those words, but the feeling was short lived, and his gut sank once more when Winlock tossed aside the package like it was nothing. The package thudded to the ground, a few caps escaped from a gap in the wrapping, and Winlock chuckled as he glared back at MacCready.

"Is that so?"

"C'mon, Winlock. Just cut the crap and end it already," he could feel his temper rising, and he jabbed a thumb to his own chest as he punctuated his next words. "I kept my end of the deal! You got the information you wanted – so leave my son out of this!"

But the smirk grew into something more sinister, and it made MacCready furious as he watched it evolve. "In case you've forgotten, our little _deal_ was more than just your debt. You still owe me intel."

MacCready's blood felt like they were liquid fire as it surged and rushed through his veins; his hands shook, his heart hammered against his ribcage as he felt his world begin to crumble. "I gave you the damn intel! The hell do you want?"

"You promised me intel which would stop the Minutemen!" Winlock spat to the concrete, as if the mere mention of the Minutemen had left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I've read through what you've gathered, and Lieutenant Clint will need more. The shit you've sent me ain't worth the paper it's written on, so you better start getting me something worthwhile before I can even consider cutting our arrangement. If that ain't a good enough motivator, then at least think of Duncan."

"Don't you dare say his name again, he's got nothing to do with this and you know it!"

"Oh, so you _don't_ care about your son?" Winlock tutted as he cocked his head to the side. "Should've known – probably been too busy fucking the Minutemen General instead of visiting your boy like a decent father would do–"

He saw red.

Instinct kicked in and it was _raw._ MacCready's body seemed to move on its own as he launched himself at Winlock. It was a blind punch, and his swing hit only air as the Gunner used his own momentum against the sniper.

A strong grip upon his wrists had twisted MacCready's arms behind his back, and Winlock shoved the young man into the shack wall. The structure rattled from the impact – MacCready growled out of pure frustration – but he was subdued. He was trapped.

"You're so full of _shit_ , Winlock!" MacCready's voice cracked from the cocktail of adrenaline and fury in his system. He thrashed with futility, but it was hopeless. Winlock was superior in close-range combat, and there were no signs of him letting go.

"Am I?" The Gunner taunted as he twisted MacCready's arms further in his spine. It was like his arms were about to pop straight out of his sockets, and it took everything in his being to not scream out in pain.

But then Winlock let go, but not before the larger man threw MacCready to the dirt. The sniper wheezed as he caught his breath, his whole body shaking from his brief bought of rage. No coherent thought could form his mind – all he could see was his little boy's face – but he can't give up. Not now. He heaved himself up before he whirled round to face Winlock, but he wasn't there.

MacCready was about to yell out in frustration before Winlock emerged back out from the shack, a brown crumpled envelope gripped tightly in his fist as he tore the package forcefully. Winlock reached inside and yanked out its contents.

Then he threw it at the space between them.

Leaves of paper fluttered down to the ground – some blew away into the wasteland below – and MacCready was about to retaliate. But then her _looked_ at the paper. His eyes froze over one particular sheet as his body was rooted to the spot.

Shaky lines of colour were drawn zealously over each page – some were drawings he recognized, but most were new – and he didn't know if he wanted yell or cry from the anguish he felt as he stared at each one.

They were Duncan's drawings.

All breath left him as he tried to form words, but eventually he found his voice again.

"Where did you get these?"

"From your son," Winlock said. "Barnes visited him and got a nice parting gift."

He could feel his voice shake, but the anger was there all the same. "You have _no fucking right_ to go near _my son!_ "

God, he wanted to kill him. His fingers were itching to grab his gun and shoot Winlock square between the eyes. At that point he didn't care about the repercussions, that he was neck deep in a Gunner settlement, and he would most definitely be killed for assassinating one of their commanders. He didn't care. He would happily die if it meant that Winlock was going down with him.

But then the wind picked up, flipping one of the pages over on the floor, and MacCready stopped himself from his wrathful impulses as he looked at the picture.

It was Duncan's favourite drawing; his daddy dancing with a brahmin, a hole punched through the top where it used to be hung on of the walls of their old family home.

"Remember our deal!" Winlock spat. "And while you're at it, remember your place!"

MacCready didn't reply. Instead he crouched down to the ground to gently pick up the drawing with shaking hands.

Winlock chuckled under his breath at the sight. He crossed his arms as he watched the ex-gunner, then cleared his throat before he spoke once more. "Oh, and for all the trouble you've caused; you owe another thousand caps. Plus, an extra thousand for the trouble Barnes had travelling to find your son," he seemed happy as he listed out the new debt accrued.

But MacCready was still staring at the picture in his hands, how the crayon lines crisscrossed and scribbled to form the outlines of himself – his portrait – and the large cartoonish brahmin dancing alongside him. He carefully folded the picture and placed it in his front pocket, right next the wooden soldier he hid away in his duster.

MacCready looked back up and stared defiantly at Winlock, his jaw clenched as he refrained from saying any more.

Winlock walked off, callously stomping on some pages with his boot before calling out the last word over his shoulder.

"Good doin' business with ya."

* * *

Everything ached.

From his feet, to his legs, back and chest...every bone in MacCready's body _ached._ Even as he crossed the wooden bridge to Sanctuary, he felt no relief as he finally ended his trek. He saw Jun wave at him from the now finished sniper tower, a signal for the other patrollers to grant MacCready safe passage into the slowly growing settlement.

He could smell the familiar aroma of charred wood and meat – no doubt smothered with Sturges' concoction of spices – and the smoke permeated the night air with promise of a good meal.

But MacCready wasn't hungry.

"Hey, you're back!"

He turned to the source of the sound and he was greeted with a genuine smile from Preston.

MacCready gave the minuteman a terse nod. "Hey, Garvey," he said. "Still wasting your time trying to save the world?"

He internally blanched at the audacity of his quip, but thankfully Preston seemed to take his insult in good stride. Preston shrugged, his grin more present than before. "I'll start saving the world if I can find a cape and spandex to match my hat," he chuckled under his breath at his own joke.

"Oh sure, but I hear that wearing your underwear on the outside is a good start."

Preston's chuckle deepened as he shook his head. "You read too many comic books, but I'll bear that in mind. Anyway, it's good to have you back."

A grunt was MacCready's only coherent reply. He eyed the small gathering around the bonfire, where settlers and minutemen alike were conversing animatedly as Sturges maintained the fire. He scanned each person – Dawn wasn't among them. Her home was still dark and empty, the candles on the windowsill remained cold and unlit, and MacCready couldn't help but wonder if she was elsewhere in the settlement.

"Any sign of Dawn?" MacCready's question tentative, loud enough only for Preston to hear.

Preston's expression visibly faltered. "None."

A heavy sigh blew from the sniper's nose as he crossed his arms. If he remembered the date correctly, then the deadline for Dawn's return was the next day. If she wasn't back by then, Preston is to become the new General of the Minutemen.

Dawn would be presumed missing, or dead.

"Whatever is going on in the Institute, I hope she finds what she's looking for..." MacCready didn't know why he said that out loud, but Preston nodded in agreement.

"Let's hope she's safe."

"Yeah."

Raucous laughter could be heard from the group by the bonfire as Sturges entertained the settlers with one of his stories, and MacCready watched the settlers as he contemplated joining them. Whatever Sturges was cooking, it smelled delicious...but the sniper was in no mood to socialize.

Instead, he faced Preston once more. "Listen, I'm pretty tired and food is the last thing on my mind," he began to make his way to the bunkers. "See you in the morning."

* * *

He was back in the Metro station.

The stench of rotting meat filled the stagnant air as MacCready ran down the endless tunnel. But he was going nowhere. No matter how far or how fast he ran, he was no further forward than he was before.

A large explosion echoed from behind him, and MacCready faltered in his strides as he twisted round to see what the source of the noise was.

Sparks of electricity flickered from a broken ceiling light, casting the end of the tunnel in shadow. Something moved in the darkness, and MacCready didn't want to stay to find out whatever lurked in the void. But when he looked ahead he could only see debris from where the tunnel caved in.

He was trapped. A dead end.

Another explosion, and MacCready watched in horror as another light was snuffed out. The darkness crept closer. Only the fluorescent light directly above him remained.

Sparks and shards of glass rained down on him as the light exploded. The sound was thunderous before it fizzled into static.

The tunnel was pitch black.

He could hear _them._

The groans and hisses of feral ghouls echoed closer.

He could hear Lucy scream.

* * *

The sound of thunder jolted him back into existence as MacCready shot up from his bed. He was back in the bunkers – _safe –_ but he could still hear Lucy's screams echo at the back of his mind.

A loud snore from the next bed over caused him to jump once more, and MacCready grimaced at how everyone else could sleep with such an obnoxious noise. Sleep was now out of the question, so MacCready quietly shifted out of his bed to put his boots on.

His skin still had a sheen of sweat on it, and he couldn't bear to put on his duster, so he put some of his belongings in his pants pocket before he trudged outside.

The night air chilled his bare arms – a welcoming sensation and now no longer feeling confined – but he still did not feel comfortable. Perhaps a walk would calm him down further, so he lit up a cigarette and strolled up the path towards the entrance of Vault 111.

It was quiet, bar the rustle of leaves from the wind, and inky clouds blotted out the stars above. A low rumble of thunder caused his aching bones to shake. A precursor to an impending storm. He hoped that it wouldn't start raining while he was out.

The familiar row of graves was the first thing he saw as he reached the top of the hill. The sunflower sprout was still there, but he didn't bring his water flask with him. MacCready made a mental note to water it again in the morning as he slowly walked to the rusted Vault-Tec control shack before he perched himself on the steps.

A small puff of smoke encircled his head as he reached into his pocket, the discreet sound of crumpled paper came from his pocket as he pulled out what he was looking for. He carefully unfolded it, then stared at Duncan's drawing.

It was hard to properly look at it in the darkness, relying only on the faint orange glow from the lit cigarette between his lips, but it was just enough. It was the only piece of his son that he now has in his possession, one that he treasured deeply and thought he might have lost forever.

He blew out another puff of smoke, and through the haze he saw something move in the darkness.

His senses prickled at the movement, and he was about to raise the alarm before he saw a glint of gold in the darkness. MacCready halted, stunned and not quite believing who was right before him.

There, crouched down by the foot of one grave and staring intently at the beginnings of a sunflower, was Dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi guys! Welcome back!
> 
> This chapter was an absolute nightmare to write. Would you believe that I have re-written Dawn's appearance three friggen times? Ugh, I just hated every word I wrote and this version was the best out of the three. I hope it was good enough.
> 
> I've finally gotten a bluetooth keyboard for my tablet so I can keep writing this story when I'm on the move. At the moment I'm using my partner's laptop, and even then it's kinda sporadic because I only use it when he's not gaming on it. Blah! But never mind.
> 
> Anyway, I have this headcanon where MacCready heavily flirts with Daisy so that he could get discounts. He's tried this tactic with KLEO before, but his plan backfired when the robot took his advances to heart. Mac finally backed away after KLEO told him "I could ruin you, in both sense of the term."
> 
> Sorry Mac, but KLEO is just too much woman for him to handle.
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys once again for your kind words and support! You have no idea just how much it motivates me to keep writing, and when I'm feeling down I would sometimes read back on them to make me feel that little bit better. You all mean so much to me and goodness knows what I've done to deserve you, so thank you so so so SO MUCH for being here!
> 
> Until the next update!


	20. Chapter 20

The night air chilled MacCready's skin until it raised Goosebumps, but another chill shivered him as he saw Dawn just ahead. He quickly stuffed Duncan's drawing back into his pocket, careful not to crumple it further, but it ruffled audibly from his haste. Dawn perked up at the sound, a look of surprise upon her face as she suddenly craned her neck to meet his eyes.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth – purely at loss of what to say – and he hated the silence that followed. But he waited patiently for a response as he observed her, how her expression melted into something tight and indecipherable.

Then he felt his throat constrict when he realised that Dawn was alone.

"Hello," she said, tone clipped and strained.

MacCready exhaled a long sigh as he thought over what to say next.

"Hi."

God, he wanted to kick himself for such a bland reply. The silence stretched once more, and Dawn only stared at him with the same unreadable expression. She shook her head as her lips tightened in distaste, then she stared at the sunflower at her feet.

"Why are you still here, Mac?"

_Mac?_  If he wasn't already shocked at the absence of her son, he would have jokingly reminded her of their first name familiarity. But he stopped himself when her words had finally registered in his mind.

"Sorry," he said. "I-I... I'll leave you alone."

His boots crunched against the dirt as he trudged down to the path to Sanctuary.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

He froze mid-stride, then turned to face her in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

An irritated scoff was her initial answer – an ugly sound that he did not miss – but she shook her head once more. "What I  _meant_  was," she stood up as she dusted her knees, "why are you still here in Sanctuary?"

He couldn't remember ever getting instructions from her about being somewhere else, and his jaw clicked as he clenched them in thought. "Was I supposed to be someplace else, or?"

"God damn it, MacCready!" She whirled on the spot from her outburst. A deep breath later, she composed herself again as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You shouldn't be here. You don't have to be  _here_. You should...you..."

Another deep breath, and it hissed as she took in another. MacCready walked back to her, alarmed that she was beginning to hyperventilate. "Dawn, hey," he reached out, but she stepped back.

"Oh God – I can't..."

"Hey, easy there," he stepped back up to her with outstretched arms, not quite knowing what to do with the situation. "I'm here, c'mon," but she moved away, further this time.

"That's the problem!" She yelled. So many emotions flitted across her face, from anger to something raw and bitter. "You're here!"

"Dawn, you're not making any sense."

"You're  _here_ , MacCready," she spat out his name as she seethed. "You have your son waiting for you back home, yet you're still here in the Commonwealth!"

There it was, that horrible feeling which intensified as it roiled in his gut. As he heard those words come from her mouth, it stung him. MacCready clenched his jaw as he thought over her statement, and it only made him feel worse.

His throat felt thick, and he swallowed before he spoke up. "I don't want to talk about that," his voice wavered. He could feel his chest tighten at the thought of Duncan, but this time he did not want to talk about him. Didn't want to share the anguish he felt. Instead, he changed the subject. "Where's Shaun?"

Instantly he regretted his question. Dawn's breathing was growing more and more erratic, and she shirked away whenever he drew near. Fear and anger – all mixed into one – and it was written clear as day on her face. "He's..." she began, but she struggled, as if the very act of speaking would cause her immense pain. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Shaun is..."

But that was it. Saying his name had tipped her over the edge, and any vestige of control she had was lost as she crumpled to the ground. A hard thud, a cloud of disturbed dust, and she openly bawled into her trembling hands.

MacCready had seen her cry many times before; but she was silent, her voice choked by whatever emotion had taken over at the time. But now? As he watched her as she wailed – watched her completely shatter into someone he no longer recognized – he realized that he shouldn't care about how she felt.

He shouldn't care about the Minutemen. About their cause. About  _her._

But he did.

And he realized just how much, right then.

His body moved without any forethought. Actions first. Consequences be damned. But he relied on his instincts. He remembered how he always did.

So when he knelt down with her – wrapped his arms around her in a tight grip – and he knew that this is something that she needed. Something that would at least comfort her, despite the tears and whatever event had happened in the Institute.

_This_  is what she  _needed._

His hand moved in a slow rhythm across her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You don't have to tell me. Just breathe, okay? Nice and slow."

She listened to him, and though she did not lean into his embrace, her breathing lessened into the same tempo as his. Her tremors died down, and her anguish simmered into broken sobs, but it was enough to know that she had overcome her previous state.

This was not how he wanted their reunion to be like. This was not how he wanted to see her.

And  _God,_  a harrowing thought had crossed his mind. If Duncan did not make it, or if he couldn't save him in time, then  _this_  could have been him.

Just when he thought he was doing the right thing, to comfort her, she shoved him away. MacCready stumbled a few steps back, jarred and unsure of what to do next. He was about to ask her what he did wrong, but Dawn had already stomped past him.

"Don't follow me," she said with finality.

And all he could do was stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

She did not look back.

* * *

Fifteen pieces of metal was laid out across the workshop bench, each component cleaned and modified. MacCready checked them over once more before he meticulously reassembled his familiar rifle. His ritual. His solace. He knew his way around his gun like every scar on the back of his hand.

But he felt a small tap to his shoulder, and he cocked his head to glance behind him. It was Preston, armed with a gentle smile and a water flask held out in his hand.

"Morning, MacCready," Preston craned his neck to look at the array on the workbench. "Y'know, if you keep on taking it apart, you'll lose a piece one day."

MacCready took the flask and drank, his throat no longer dry before he carried on his work with deft hands. "I never lose a piece," he said. "Never miss a shot, too."

Preston chuckled. "I wouldn't doubt you for a second."

Two pieces were left on the table, and MacCready carefully fitted them together before he connected it back to his gun. Fifteen pieces assembled, his rifle now whole. He raised it up carefully to check his sights were properly aligned.

"How long have you had that rifle?" Preston stepped up next to him while MacCready calibrated his gun.

"Eh..." MacCready chewed the inside of his cheek. "Had it since I was ten. Why?"

Preston shrugged as he walked around the workshop. The sun was beginning to rise, and it casted a yellow glow across Sanctuary. The Minuteman smiled as he watched the horizon, an upbeat tune whistled from his lips as he crossed his arms.

MacCready shook his head, annoyed that his question was ignored. He returned to his calibrations.

"The General is back," Preston announced. MacCready grunted in reply. "Said she arrived two nights ago. She's resting up at the moment, but we're all glad she's safe."

Another grunt. MacCready smoothed an oiled cloth over the wooden stock – it snagged on a stray splinter – and he cursed under his breath as he reached over the bench for a file. "Yeah. Caught her by the graves that night."

"Oh?" Preston slowly turned on his heel to face the sniper. "Did she say anything?"

A scoff blew out before MacCready could stop himself, and Preston furrowed his brow at the reaction. "Not really," he sighed heavily as he slung his rifle to his back. "Whatever happened in the Institute, it hit her hard. She wasn't ready to talk about it that night, so before you say any more; I ain't gonna ask for you. She'll talk when she's ready."

Preston raised his hands up in surrender, his lips twisted into a grim smile. "Okay, you got me."

A beat of silence passed, and MacCready decided to light up a cigarette to fill the awkward pause between them. He leaned back onto the workbench as he smoked. "Lemme guess, she yelled at you too."

Preston nodded wordlessly.

"Yeah, it was my mistake though."

A cloud of smoke blew out from MacCready's nostrils as he shook his head once more. "What did you do?"

"I told her that another settlement needed her help."

"Well..." He shouldered his rifled strap higher.  _Fucking moron,_  he wanted to say, tempting as it was. "Could'a been worse."

Preston sighed as he rolled his eyes, arms now crossed as he returned to stare at the sunrise. "Sure..."

The wind was picking up, and though the sky was clear enough to see the sun rising, MacCready could spot some large clouds in the distance. He cleared his throat as he contemplated how long it would take before the incoming rain would reach them. A few settlers and minutemen were starting to emerge, some going about their usual activities as the rest of the settlement was waking up. A large sneeze resounded from a few shacks away – no doubt that Mama Murphy was awake – and MacCready took that as his cue to get moving.

"Anyway," Preston perked up, stopping MacCready from going about his usual patrol. "The General wanted me to find you. Said that we'll be heading out soon."

"Okay, whatever," the sniper went back to lean on the workshop again. They both stood in the workshop in silence, watching the world go by as they waited on Dawn to make her appearance. Occasionally Preston would whistle another tune, and MacCready would try to mentally guess what song it was.

It was an hour later before Dawn trudged up to them.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said as she readjusted her Pip-Boy. She gave the two men a quick glance, but it was enough for MacCready to see the redness in her eyes. "Let's head out."

* * *

 

They were back on the open road, a loaded weapon held between MacCready's rough hands and a lit cigarette between his lips. He trailed behind Preston and Dawn – he would rather watch them from behind – but they were too far to hear their conversation.

It was the first time he's travelled with Preston, and their current mission was to clear out a Raider Camp, but the details were vague. Every time MacCready tried to question further, he was ignored by Dawn. Back to the aloof Vault Dweller he had first met in the Third Rail.

Back to square one. He couldn't help but clench his jaw at the thought.

The two ahead slowed down to a stop, and Preston looked back expectantly at the sniper. MacCready took his chance to properly assess their surroundings as he caught up to them; they were further south from Concord, and the tell-tale signs of a Raider settlement could be seen in the distance. Spiked walls, headless bodies hung on meat hooks, and blood was painted and splattered on their territory.

Animals, even more-so than the Gunners, and MacCready hated the sight of them.

"The General wants to scout ahead," Preston said as MacCready approached them. "It's a small group, but this was the camp that attacked Sanctuary over a month ago."

At his words, Dawn jogged off to the brush nearby. The air suddenly rippled around her before she was engulfed with pixels of colour. It fizzled, then Dawn was practically invisible as she disappeared into the bushes.

MacCready looked back at Preston with confusion. "She has Stealth Boys?"

Preston nodded as he hummed. "Yeah. She won't tell us where she got them from, though."

"Of course she won't talk..." MacCready sighed as he hid away behind a tree. He brought out his binoculars then stared through the sights. Raiders were patrolling ahead – one of them was belligerently drunk – but they obviously lacked discipline and a strict patrol schedule. Unpredictable, that's the only thing MacCready found dangerous with Raiders. That, and their numbers.

But these Raiders were few and far between. He passed his binoculars over to Preston.

"I count seven," he said. Preston hummed once more as he stared through the lens. "Can only guess how many are hidden away."

"Gonna have to rely on the General for getting a better headcount." Preston grimaced as he handed back the binoculars. The two waited for Dawn to return, the sun now beginning to set and casting shadows as cover.

The bushes ruffled, and the duo were suddenly on edge as they quickly gripped onto their weapons. But the tell-tale signs of a Stealth Boy rippled the air and unveiled a sweaty Dawn. She huffed as she wiped her brow, her hands were busy with the covert contraption strapped to her waist, and she crouched down to join the two men.

"Okay," she began. "There's seven watching the perimeter. I found another three asleep inside the shack on the far end. We'll wait until night falls."

Preston shuffled closer. "My weapons are loud. When do you want me to move forward?"

"Yeah, mine too. I'm better close range, but..." Dawn looked over to MacCready. "Hey, I've seen you singlehandedly take out a Raider settlement before. What would you do?"

MacCready was taken aback for being asked for his input. He never considered himself as a group tactician, but he didn't know if he should be alarmed or flattered for being considered in her planning.  _You point, I shoot,_  is his usual motto. This is the first time he would be doing the pointing.

"Well, uh..." MacCready eyed the Stealth boy on Dawn's hip. "How many more charges do you have on that thing?"

"Two more. Collectively, maybe ten minutes left." She quickly checked over the contraption as she confirmed.

"Okay..." He took off his hat to run a hand through his hair. "We don't have the numbers, but we can surprise them. Because there's three asleep, there's probably going to be three on the night patrol. We'll wait one hour after they change over – that gives time for most of them to fall asleep – then Dawn, you use the last charge on your Stealth Boy to take them out."

"Sounds good," Preston said. "What about the rest of them?"

"That's where you come in," MacCready pointed down to the small array of shacks. "Dawn is gonna cause some noise as she gets the night watch. The others will be waking up and coming from that shack. Hang back by there and take them out as they run for her. I'll find a vantage point on higher ground and I'll pick off what I can."

Dawn and Preston looked at each other in agreement, an unspoken understanding coming between the two. Something that – strangely – MacCready wished that he could have shared. She shifted herself over to the young sniper, voice low as she whispered. "Good plan, I'll move out and watch. Keep an eye on Preston for me."

A bitter taste was at the back of MacCready's throat as he nodded. "Okay,  _boss._ "

* * *

Night had fallen. MacCready perched himself high up on a hill, his scope focused on a Raider by one of the shacks. He had been staring at the thug pick his nose for at least twenty minutes now, an unpleasant sight that disgusted him as he watched them stand around.

He remembered how he used to berate the other kids at Little Lamplight for the habit.  _Whoever digs their bogies are a dirty mungo,_ a thought which made MacCready smile as he watched the vagabond go in deep.

"Mungo..." MacCready muttered under his breath. He'll shoot that one first.

He spotted movement by the shack. A shimmer in the air only a Stealth Boy can cause, and Mr. Booger was suddenly pulled back mid-dig. His throat was sliced open, then he was lying on the floor as he drowned in his own blood. Dawn had made her move.

Onto the next target. Another Raider by a camp fire, and he was taken out once more with a clean cut across the neck. MacCready wondered where she learned such stealth; he made a mental note to ask who had taught her.

The last night watcher was sat up on a higher guard post – completely unaware of the other two writhing behind him – and MacCready observed the ripples of air as Dawn advanced up the guard post.

Then the air flickered. A mess of static and pixels, and Dawn was suddenly unveiled halfway up the guard post. She looked down at her waist in alarm. Something was wrong with her Stealth Boy – it had not even been ten minutes – but thankfully the raider did not spot her.

"Dang it." MacCready fixed his sights onto the night watcher. One wrong move by Dawn, and she'll be dead.

Dawn crept up the tower, each step slow and deliberate as she got closer to the thug. The Raider shifted, Dawn halted and stilled, but he was only moving to take a swig from a metal flask.

MacCready took a closer look at the flask. He could see the metal was polished – reflective.

"Dammit!" MacCready quickly aimed for a headshot. Just as he suspected, the Raider spotted Dawn in the reflection of his flask. Just when the thug reached out for his gun, his head cracked open with a clean shot through the skull.

The crack of the rifle had alerted the rest of the raiders. MacCready could see Preston join the fray, the familiar red glow of a laser musket coming into view. The minuteman took out any raider that ran towards Dawn, and as promised MacCready made sure Preston didn't have anyone sneak up on him.

But one was getting too close to the minuteman. MacCready followed him with his sights, two shots missed, and the last pull on the trigger clicked dry. "Shi..." He stopped himself from swearing as he quickly reloaded his rifle. He lost count of his rounds, a rookie mistake, and he wanted to kick himself for it.

His eyes were back to his scope. Preston was wrestling with the raider, and Dawn was running towards him to help. No chance of a clean shot now. He needed to get in there, now.

The sniper shouldered his rifle as he sprinted over from his vantage point. His heart was pumping in his ears as he ran. Another raider spotted him as he was running, and MacCready quickly took him out with his side arm. He could hear Dawn shout, and she sounded afraid.

MacCready rounded the corner – blue eyes scanned the area – and  _there._  Preston was on the ground, musket a few meters away, and Dawn was jamming a stimpak into Preston's arm. The raider from before was dead beside them, bloody from buckshot and bleeding into the dirt. MacCready crouched down over to them.

"What happened?" His words came out in a rush. Dawn quickly looked up from her task.

"Preston's shot," she sounded panicked.

"I'll be fine, just take out the rest of them!" Preston pushed her hands away. "General, don't worry!"

She was still fretting, but now was not the time. MacCready grabbed her by the elbow as he hoisted her away. "C'mon! Let's go!" But she resisted in protest. "Dawn, for frick's sake! We're gonna get killed if you stay here!"

Dawn stood up with an angry cry. She was frustrated,  _enraged._  Shotgun was back in her bloodied hands and she pushed her way past the sniper with her teeth bared. She was back on the move, and MacCready followed behind with his pistol ready.

But she shot into the air to draw them out, and when none came she ran blindly into one of the shacks.

"No! Wait!" He cried. He ran in with her.

MacCready nearly tripped over a corpse as he entered the shack. He could hear footsteps – a loud boom of her shotgun – and he followed the sound. More gunfire, upstairs this time, and he felt a wet splat of blood drip through the ceiling. There was a ladder ahead, and he quickly scrambled up to the next floor.

He ducked down as a body toppled over him, and he gripped tight to the rungs as it thudded to the floor below. He quickly checked the bloodied corpse –  _not Dawn –_ and then pulled himself up. A loud cry came from behind him.

Another raider, a machete in hand and going straight towards him.

MacCready raised his pistol and emptied half of his clip into the raider's chest. The raider crumpled to the floor, machete loose and it clattered against the wooden slats. Dead. Time to move.

A boom and a flash, followed by the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Dawn pushed onwards to the next room before MacCready could stop her.

"Come on out!" She yelled. The room was empty except from her.

"Dawn, stop!" He reached out to her, but she whirled around and smacked his arm away. Her skin was flushed under the layers of blood, and she slipped past him to drop back down the ladder. "Dawn!"

She wasn't listening. She was too caught up in her wrath to hear him, and she shot into the still night air as she stomped over to the middle of the settlement.

"Get out here!" Her voice was hoarse. "Fucking cowards! I'll kill you all!"

No one was answering her cries. MacCready knew that all of the raiders were now dead. There's no-one left but the three of them.

"I'll kill all of you!" She emptied her last round into the air, and when she heard the empty click she slammed her shotgun into the ground. Dirt and dust clouded up where her weapon was thrown, but she was still shouting. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

Enough is enough. Preston watched her with surprise, jaw open as the minutemen was speechless with her display. This was a completely different woman, an angry killer who the two men did not recognize. MacCready carefully stepped up to her, cautious not to get too close in case she would punch him.

"Dawn, hey," his voice was low, gentle. "C'mon, it's over."

She turned on her heel, veins popped on her neck as she shoved him away. "Fuck off!"

_That's it._  MacCready lunged forward and gripped her from behind. Her arms were pinned to her sides as she thrashed against him. She kicked out as she shouted more profanities, and he could feel her rapid pulse through her skin.

"Stop, it's over. Da- oof!" He doubled over when she kicked his shin, but he gripped tighter. "Jesus – Enough, Dawn!"

She was still shouting. MacCready whirled her round so that she could face him.

"Look at me!" He said. She wasn't looking. Dawn was still trying to wriggle free. "Dawn, look at me."

Her eyes finally met his, and she suddenly stilled.

"Look at me..." he breathed. She was still panting heavily from the struggle, but her previous rage melted away as the colour drained from her face. "That's it. It's okay, it's over."

She nodded mutely as her eyes started to water.

"I'm gonna let go now," he said, and when she nodded again he slowly let go. Her arms hung at her sides as he stepped away.

"Sorry..." Her eyes dropped to the floor as she slowly trudged up to Preston. "How's your arm?"

"I'm good, General. Nothing to fret about." Preston gave her a reassuring smile.

A high pitched shriek pierced the night air, and all three of them stared at the source of the sound. It came from the shack, and the sound gurgled into more hiccups and cries. MacCready knew that sound – and God it made his heart race – and he ran back into the building to find the source of their cries.

More wails, and it came from upstairs. MacCready stepped over the corpses as he pulled himself back up to the next floor. He was closer to the crying. He strained his eyes as he searched the next room.

There. A wooden crate was tucked in the far corner of the room, the interior padded with blankets and straw. He stepped closer and looked into the crate.

A baby, no older than maybe six months, and it was crying its heart out.

MacCready knelt down by the box and reached both hands inside. "Hey there, bud," he whispered. A baby girl, and he wrapped her up tightly in a blanket before he lifted her up. "Shush... it's okay."

The baby quieted her cries as MacCready tucked her safely into his arms.

"Mac?"

Dawn had followed him, and when MacCready turned around to reveal the child in his arms, she froze.

"Oh my God..." her voice choked off in the end. "Oh my God. I-I didn't know. Oh God, I killed them..."

"Dawn," he warned. "Go and get Preston. We need to get back to Sanctuary."

She nodded once again before she ran back out of the shack, and he carefully lowered himself downstairs. He kept the baby closer to his chest as he went back outside, he didn't want the night air to chill her, and when he met back up with Preston the minuteman was speechless once more.

Dawn couldn't keep her eyes off the baby, but she stared at her with a mixture of fear and relief in her eyes.

"Jun told me that they have baby formula," MacCready said. "C'mon, let's head off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadahhh, an update!
> 
> Currently on holiday in Spain. Salou is a wonderful place! Cocktails all day errrday!
> 
> Also currently nursing a hangover and mild sunburn. I'm here for a good time, not a long time.
> 
> Well, this chapter took a while for me to sort out. I had a few extra scenes on here, but when I read back on it I realised that it was a little bit bogged down with...gunf. I needed to shave this badboy down before I was happy with it. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Anyway, if you guys want to see some extra content, like art and my writing process, search for the Crossfire tag on my Tumblr. My name on there is LadyPazlet.
> 
> Looking for a Beta Reader! If you're interested, please let me know!


End file.
